


Bound by Blood

by Felicia_Rottingstone



Series: The Unwilting Rose [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 00:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felicia_Rottingstone/pseuds/Felicia_Rottingstone
Summary: Solona Amell is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, the consort of the king, and the mother of the princess. But secrets are left to be uncovered, and she cannot rest until she finds the truth. Even if it takes her away from the family she fought so hard to find.It is HIGHLY recommended you read Tower to Tower: a Hero and a King before reading this.





	1. The Words of a Witch

“Tell me, why did you come?”

“I was hoping for answers.”

“Answers? We all want answers,” Morrigan said, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “We had a deal. I save your life, and the life of the man you love, and in return, you leave me be. Why should I answer any of your questions now?”

“We both know the deal didn’t work out as you planned, Morrigan,” I reminded her. “If you answer some of my questions, perhaps I will give you some answers you seek in return.”

“Ask your questions, then, since you have traveled so far.” I could see the curiosity in her eyes. She didn’t want to show her interest, but I had known her too long for her to hide it.

“You have a child? Born healthy, I hope?” I asked. She would have given birth around the same time as I had. It was unsettling to think of her raising my daughter’s sibling, Alistair’s child, and I knowing nothing of it.

“He is safe,” she replied, her defenses raised and warning in her voice. She had a son.  Alistair’s son. “And he is beyond your reach.”

“Your son has nothing to fear from either Alistair or myself, Morrigan,” I assured her. I hoped no one was foolish enough to test Morrigan’s protective instincts. “I just wanted to know if he is well.”

“All you need to know is that the child is an innocent. He knows nothing of the destiny that lies before him.” Morrigan crossed her arms, resolve written into her expression. She would give me as little information as she could, but I was too curious to keep myself from asking.

“His destiny?” I pressed her.  “What is your plan?”

“My plan is to leave and prepare the child for what is to come,” she evaded. “Such preparation requires time.  And power. I must have both if I am to be successful.”

“That only leaves me with more questions, Morrigan,” I said, growing impatient. “You told Alistair that your child did not contain the soul of an old god. Whatever your plans were then, they must have changed. What is coming? What are you making preparations for? I can help you, if you let me.”

“More than this, I cannot say,” she responded, shaking her head, her expression growing apologetic. “Not even to you, Solona.”

“What of your ritual, then?” I asked, changing topics. “If it failed, then how did I survive? If it did not fail, what happened to the old god’s soul?”

“My ritual did not fail,” she rebuked.  “I am not sure what happened, but I suspect it was altered in some way that I was not prepared for. You would be dead if it had failed, but you are not. What does it matter to you what happened to the old god’s soul?”

“It matters,” I assured her.

“Come now, Solona,” Morrigan chided. “You can do better than that. I have answered your questions. It is time for you to answer mine.”

“Your answers are barely answers at all!” I exclaimed. “I know almost nothing more than I did this morning.”

“On the contrary, you know a great deal more,” she contradicted. “This morning, you had only theories and speculation. Now you have confirmation. Will you allow me to ask my questions?”

She wasn’t really asking permission. And I had offered my answers as payment, so I had no choice but to nod.

“How did you cure Alistair of the taint?” she asked. That was a question I had asked myself many times.  Though I had learned more about the scope of my abilities, I was still no closer to a concrete answer.

“The easy answer is sloppy spell-casting,” I told her. “I didn’t mean to. I meant to heal him of his mortal wounds, but I got more than I intended.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan agreed. “But we are both mages. What is the complex answer?”

“My abilities are greater than even I understand,” I explained. “I used my staff as a conduit for the residual magic left in the air during the battle. I channeled it into Alistair, and… I just wished. I just wished for him to be healed and whole.”

“That was a dangerous gambit,” she observed. “I am surprised you were even able to collect it without a special spell and an enormous amount of lyrium, but I am more surprised that such an action did not simply kill him outright, flooding his body with magic like that.”

“I knew the risk, but he was dying anyway.”

“This ability of yours, to draw in magic like that, have you used it at other times?” Morrigan asked her question with an even voice, but I could see the wheels turning in her eyes.  She was going to come to the same conclusion that I had soon enough.

“I have since, although not nearly so efficiently,” I told her, though I knew that was not what she was asking.

“And before?  If you think back, can you remember similar actions, although perhaps with less intention.”

“Yes,” I admitted, ready to tell her the truth. “The night I conceived my daughter.”

Morrigan was too stunned to hide the shock in her face. Her mouth dropped open in shock, and she stared at me in silence. I let her process the information until she had re-composed herself.

“Your daughter was conceived on the same night as my son,” she stated. It wasn’t a question that needed confirmation. She knew. It was the only answer that made sense. “Your daughter has the soul of an old god.”

“Yes.”

“You ruined my plans,” she accused, although her voice was not hostile. She sighed deeply and rubbed her brow in frustration.

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“I spent months trying to figure out what happened,” she complained. “Trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I did right.  But it wasn’t me at all.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said, apologizing again.

“Of course the soul went into your child, you were closer,” she concluded, throwing up her arms and groaning in consternation. She paced for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked at me. “I don’t blame you. I believe that you had no intention to steal my spell or recast it on yourself.”

Relief flooded through me. Morrigan had been my friend, and if she had turned against me in anger for this, it would have broken my heart. I did not want us to be adversaries, especially not since we both had small children that depended on us. I thought I had come here for answers, but now I realized it was her absolution I truly sought. Still, I needed to know what I could do.

“Can you fix it?” I asked. Her eyes opened in confusion.

“Fix what? Nothing is broken.  It worked exactly as it intended to,” she said.

“I don’t want the soul in my daughter,” I fretted.  “I don’t know what it will do to her, and I don’t want her to grow up with more on her shoulders than she already has.”

“If you worry about her turning evil, you can put that fear to rest,” she assured me. “She will grow up as most children do, and you will notice little of the difference.  She will be far more impacted by her status as the child of a king.”

“But you said that your son has a destiny,” I sought to clarify. “I can only assume that was influenced by the soul.  Now that she has it, will it change her fate?”

“Perhaps,” Morrigan admitted. “I am powerful, but there are forces that drive the world which I cannot fathom. Not every event is driven by the machinations of individuals.  Sometimes the gods themselves have plans for us.”

“Can you remove it?” I asked her. I didn’t want my daughter to be the pawn of anyone, let alone a god. I looked at her with hope in my eyes. If anyone could save her from such a fate, Morrigan could.

“I am truly sorry,” she apologized, her voice sorrowful. “If I could, I would without hesitation. But alas, my powers are not so great.  I would not even know how such a thing could be done.”

I closed my eyes, letting one single tear roll down my face and fighting off the flood that threatened to follow. My precious baby girl. I could not save her from her fate. And I had been the one who did this to her.

“The time has come for me to go,” Morrigan informed me.  “I cannot tarry longer.”

“Must you leave? There’s still so much I don’t understand. Please, stay a while longer,” I begged her.

“I must,” she replied.  She turned to the Eluvian and pressed her hand against its surface.  Her fingers caused ripples among the swirling purple. I feared for what was to come, whether she was planning to set events into motion that would bring danger back to Ferelden, or whether she was planning to put a stop to someone else’s machinations. I feared what it would mean for my daughter. If she stepped through the mirror, I knew I would never see her again.

“Have you nothing else to say?” I cried, my distress causing my voice to crack.

“There is one last thing I must tell you, if you will allow me,” she said, turning back to me. She gestured to her campfire, now cold, some ways away. “I left you a gift. The Dalish book is there, as well as something you will find of great interest.”

I looked at the small pack. Whatever it contained, I was sure that Morrigan had been planning to see me again. She never left anything to chance, and if she was giving me something important, then she had been waiting for me. I turned my gaze back to her.

“Now, do we part?” she asked. “Or do you seek to stop me, though you do not, and cannot, know my plans?” 

“Just say goodbye this time,” I implored her. Her face relaxed, and she smiled. She walked forward and stretched out her arms. I met her embrace, and she hugged me tightly. 

“Your story is not yet finished, Hero of Ferelden,” she whispered into my ear. “Do not grow complacent. You still have many lives to save.”

“If ever you need my help, you have only to ask for it,” I reminded her, then let go. She walked back to the Eluvian, and in a moment, she had disappeared. 

I stared after her for a long time. I felt helpless. The answers I sought, it seemed, would never be found.  Now, I would have to return to Alistair with empty hands. He would be as heartbroken as I was.

I felt the cold wet nose of Barkspawn gently pressing against my hand. I had tarried here long enough, and now it was time to move on.  I turned back to my companions, Ariane and Finn. They were resting near the campfire, both occupying themselves with some small, menial task as they waited for me. Ariane had the Dalish book in her hands, and she was already paging through it, making sure it had not been damaged in any way. If she had known Morrigan’s reverence for knowledge, she wouldn’t have bothered.

I made my way over to them, trying to arrange my face so it did not show the remorse that I felt.  Ariane smiled brightly at me.

“Thank you for getting this back for us,” she said.

“Yes, but can we get out of this cave now?” Finn asked. “I’d like a bath.”

“Finn!” scolded Ariane. “Don’t be so selfish!”

“I’m not!” he protested. “I’m thinking of the cleanliness of all of us.”

I smiled at them. “Yes, it’s time for us to go.”

“Here,” Ariane offered, handing me a small tome bound in white leather, emblazoned with a vivid red crest of two geometric birds with intertwining limbs. I flipped open the front cover and read the title page:  _ The History and Genealogy of the Illustrious Amell Family of Kirkwall, Free Marches _ . I frowned. I was an Amell, but my family was Ferelden, not Marchers. Perhaps this was my distant relations? It didn’t matter. I had long ago given up any interest in connecting with my family. They had given me up. They didn’t deserve to know me now.

Still, I put the book in my pack. Perhaps my daughter would want to know who they were one day, and I didn’t want to deny her the opportunity to know of them just because of my own bitter experiences. I would put it on a shelf in the palace bookshelf, and leave it. If it was never picked up again, then so be it.

“Let’s go home,” I said, and we left the cave together.


	2. Lies the Chantry Told Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona returns to Denerim. Her reunion with Alistair is steamy, but ends with the revelation of a life-changing secret. Morrigan's gift isn't so useless after all.

Denerim greeted me as it always did, with far too much noise and bustle and trash. Alistair was trying to implement a new trash disposal and recycling program in the city, but it wasn’t going too well. Too many people were used to throwing things out on the street and were too content to continue to live in the squalor. I kept my hood pulled low over my face and my staff tucked out of sight, and hurried through the streets. I wasn’t exactly recognizable to most of the citizenry, but every once in a while I was spotted, and one time, the crowds had thronged against me with so much enthusiasm, they threatened to trample me, and only by the guard’s intervention was I rescued.

I didn’t like being escorted through the city with an official contingent, either. I wanted my face to fade from the memories of those who had seen me, and that wouldn’t happen if their minds were refreshed every time I returned to the city, which was every couple of months now, it seemed. I preferred being able to slip in and out of the palace covertly. It was quicker and safer, and mabaris were common enough that no one suspected Barkspawn at my side.

As I entered the Palace District, I noticed a considerable improvement in the cleanliness of the streets. It seemed Alistair’s scheme was more successful among those who could afford to pay others to complete the work for them. Once I reached the palace itself, the stone of the streets practically shone in the sun, so clean they were. I slipped around to the side, and headed for the servant’s entrance.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” interrupted a guardswoman, stepping in my way with one arm outstretched. “Only authorized personnel are permitted through this entrance. You’ll either have to show me your papers or use the public entrance and make your case to the Sergeant at Arms.”

I smiled and pulled my hood back slightly. The guard narrowed her eyes in response. She had an inkling of recognition, but she obviously couldn’t place my face. Good. I liked being obscure. But I still needed to pass through.

“Would you deny entrance to the Warden-Commander?” I asked her. “If you like, you can fetch the king himself. I’m sure he would vouch for my identity.”

The guardswoman's face turned red. She was clearly unnerved by the suggestion of the king arriving to let his beloved into her own home, but she didn’t back down. “I’m sorry, Warden-Commander. I don’t mean to be impertinent, but I have strict instructions not to let anyone through who hasn’t been verified. I’m sure you understand the need for safety precautions. The Sergeant at Arms should recognize you, though, if you’d like to make your case to him.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I sighed. I’d have to speak to the head of the guards about this one receiving a raise or a promotion. Integrity like hers should be rewarded. In the meantime, I pulled off one glove and showed her the signet ring Alistair had given me the day I returned to him from Amaranthine. The Theirin family crest was stamped into the gold, and on the inside he had carved the inscription, “My love is a rose that will never wilt.” Its authenticity was unmistakable, and the guard recognized it straight away.

“My apologies, ma’am,” she stuttered, bowing. “I meant no disrespect. Of course, you can go right in.”

“Don’t apologize for being good at your job,” I told her. “And if you keep quiet about seeing me, I’ll make sure you’re first in line for new equipment.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” she exclaimed. I finally moved past her and entered the palace.

The thick, mouth-watering smells of the palace kitchens greeted me first, and I made my way to the long bank of stoves where cooks were preparing the evening's meal. Shianni, an elf I had met during the siege of Denerim, stood in the middle, shouting out directions and closely watching the comings and goings of each item of food. Alistair had hired her as head of the kitchen staff, as thanks for her help in the battle, and she had proven herself to be a capable and loyal employee. Nothing happened in the kitchens without her knowledge, and no one made it into the kitchens without her express approval. She had single-handedly thwarted three poisoning attempts.

“You can’t be in here right now,” she scolded me as I approached. “We’re far too busy, and I can’t spare anyone to feed you right now.”

“It is a pleasure to see you too, Shianni,” I responded, smiling at her refusal to treat me any differently than anyone else. That was my favorite thing about Shianni. When it came to her job, not even the king himself was allowed to get in her way.

“I’ve got three Orlesian lords and their ensembles to feed tonight,” she explained. “I’ve got no time for pleasantries. If you want to eat, you’ll have to get it yourself or wait until after dinner.”

“I can’t join dinner?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“No. I’ve got everything planned to a T, and you’re not part of that plan.” She barked at a young server who struggled to balance a tray of soups, then returned her gaze to me. “Since when do you want to eat with officials, anyway?”

“I don’t,” I admitted, smiling. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t changed at all in my absence.”

Shianni rolled her eyes at me, then sighed. “If you can wait, I’ll have someone bring you leftover ham and cake. The king’s chambers?”

I nodded, and she shooed me out of the kitchen.

I navigated through the complex maze of servant’s passages up to Alistair’s private quarters. None of the servants themselves gave me any pause. Over the past two years, they had become accustomed to my sporadic presence. Only Alistair’s private valet stopped me for conversation, and that was only to determine what I required of him.

“When his majesty has concluded dinner with the Orlesians, you may tell him I’ve arrived,” I requested. “In the meantime, will you send Elissa to me? And perhaps, have a bath drawn when she leaves again?”

He nodded and set out to see it done.

Alistair’s chambers were much as they had been last I had seen them. The sitting room was immaculate with well-placed furs and a roaring fire. The bookshelves were orderly, and even Alistair’s desk was neat, with three piles of papers stacked nicely upon them. I wondered how much work it took the staff to keep it this organized. His bedroom was another matter, however. The bed itself was neatly made, but there were garments hanging off every surface, and four books, opened and face down, perched on the bedside table. Crumpled wads of paper littered one side of the bed. The maids must have finally given up trying to curb the chaos of this room.

I removed my travel cloak and pack, placing the former on the pile of dirty clothes that spilled out of the hamper and the latter in one of the twin wardrobes. Mine was still as organized as I had left it, while his was wide open, without a single item hanging nicely. When was the last time he had allowed anyone in here to collect his dirty clothes? I’d have to scold him about that. Orlesians were particular about appearances, and he couldn’t afford to be so careless.

After I had washed most of the dust from my face and arms at the washbasin, a blue and white porcelain bowl with rose-scented water, I made my way back to the sitting room just as the door opened. A matronly woman entered carrying a black-haired girl not yet two years old. My daughter.

“Hello, Elissa,” I cooed and scooped the girl out of her nurse’s arms. She was a calm and well-behaved baby, and she giggled happily as I twirled her in a circle.

I hadn’t ever expected to be a mother, and certainly not at so young an age, and throughout my pregnancy, I had worried over my capabilities to care for her. Once she was born, my fears only increased. I loved her so much, and I wanted the very best for her, but as a Grey Warden, I had duties that conflicted with my ability to take a leading role in her upbringing. How would she handle not seeing me for months on end? How would I?

But each time I returned from my missions, she greeted me happily as if I had never left. She didn’t seem to show any signs that she didn’t know who I was, my biggest concern about my absences. The nurse we had hired cared for her with more diligence than I think I could have managed, and I was grateful to her. It hurt to be away from Elissa, of course, but I knew she was well-loved and well-cared for.

I played with Elissa for an hour as I listened to the report of how she had matured over the past few months, what shenanigans she attempted, which visiting dignitaries she enraptured. Her light brown eyes shown back at me as if to say, “They all love me!” How could they not? I loved her, perhaps more than anyone had ever loved a child. Certainly, more than my parents had loved me.

Eventually, the sky fell dark, and Elissa’s nurse insisted that she begin her evening routine. I reluctantly let my baby go, promising to see her again in the morning. By then, the valet had drawn a steaming bath in the adjacent chamber, the fragrant oils added to it beckoning me into the water. I undressed, stepped into the bath, and finally relaxed. 

I dozed for a time, letting the soaps soak the grime of travel and battle from my skin. The tub was enchanted, and I didn’t worry about the water going cold. I let the water do its work and ease the tension in my muscles, calm and quiet my mind, and brighten my spirit. I’m not sure how long I had enjoyed the bath when I heard the door open, but I was far too relaxed to even open my eyes, let alone greet the visitor.

“Huh, would you look at that,” Alistair’s voice carried to me through the doorway. “Someone’s been peeking into my dreams again. Or perhaps I fell asleep and am now in a desire-demon controlled hallucination. I hope no one rescues me.”

The corners of my mouth twitched upwards as I heard his footsteps come closer. He slowly circled the tub, and I could imagine the look on his face as he appreciated the parts of me he could see above the soapy water. When he came around behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric, then both felt and heard the splash of water as he dipped something in it. The soft pressure of a washcloth gliding over my shoulder gave me goosebumps. Alistair pressed a kiss onto the top of my head and began to bathe me.

“I think I should get to do this after every state dinner with the Orlesians,” he suggested, rubbing the cloth over my chest. “Well, everyone I don’t insult them at, anyway. It could be my reward.”

“It feels like more of a reward for me,” I murmured as he pushed the cloth down below the water, running it over my breasts.

“Well, then it’s a win-win, isn’t it?” His arm sank lower into the water, the washcloth a sham of an excuse as his hand splayed against my stomach. I opened my eyes and craned my head back to look at him.

“If your hand is going where I think it’s going,” I said. “You’d have better access from inside the tub.”

His face was clean shaven, and he’d recently cut his hair so it was shorter on the sides, but he mostly looked the same. His amber-colored eyes poured into me, both adoration and desire making my heart beat faster. He leaned toward me and captured my mouth in a light kiss, his tongue flicking across my lips as his hand sank even lower. I sighed in pleasure.

“Alistair,” I murmured softly. “You’re wearing far too many clothes.”

He chuckled and then stood up, quickly shucking his layers and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Then he stepped into the tub and sank down between my legs, the displaced water splashing over the sides of the tub and soaking the floor.

“Is this better for you?” he asked, and when I smiled he gripped the edge of the tub and pulled himself close to me for another kiss. This kiss was deep and hungry, and our teeth scraped against each other in the desperation to be close. Every time I returned it was like this. Like our bodies had spent the whole time aching, and only through our frantic coupling could we again feel satiated. 

I let one hand grip his hair, holding his face to mine, as the other trailed down his back, tracing the lines of his muscles and long-familiar scars. One of his hands returned to its journey below and finally found the cleft between my legs that Alistair had initially been seeking. I moaned into his mouth as he rubbed at the tight bud of nerves there. He had become quite the expert at drawing such sounds out of me with his administrations. His fingers knew all the right places to rub, and I was soon lost in the pleasure he provided me. He kept kissing me, though I had become too distracted by his hands to kiss him back properly. He loved to do this to me, assault me on multiple fronts until I lost the ability to do much more than moan and pant in pleasure. 

When my nails began to dig into the flesh of his back, he slipped two fingers inside me, finding the passage well lubricated. He pumped them in and out slowly, teasing me, and I pressed my hips up to him, trying to encourage his actions. He smiled into my mouth at my eagerness, and I took advantage of the moment to cry his name. “Alistair,” I begged. “Please don’t tease me.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” he protested, his grin infuriating as he slipped a third finger within. Now he was stretching me, preparing me for what it was I most wanted. I tried to push him back, to free myself from his hand so I could take control and take what I wanted, but he overpowered me. I thrashed in the water as he pinned me in place with nothing but one divine hand and two lips that kissed down my neck.

“Alistair,” I cried, and he laughed again.

“Beg me again,” he whispered into my ear. “Beg me to have my way with you.”

His orders made me clench around his fingers. I was in no position to deny him, not if I wanted him to satisfy me. “Please, Alistair. Please take me.”

“More,” he growled, his voice lustful. “Beg your king to please you. Tell me how much you’ve thought of me while you were gone. Tell me that you laid awake every night fantasizing about my touch.

“Yes,” I swore, the desperation in my voice evident. “Every night. I’d touch myself and pretend it was you. Please, Alistair. I can’t bear it if you deny me. I need you inside me. I need you, please.”

He seemed to finally be satisfied with my appeals, and he sat back on his heels, dragging me with him, splashing water over the sides of the tub. I straddled him, and he brought me down on his erection, penetrating me fully in one stroke. I threw both arms around his neck and bit down on his shoulder as he gripped my hips and forcefully moved me in time with his thrusts. Each hard movement brought me exquisite pleasure, and I cried out his name over and over again. As the pressure built, his own moans of pleasure mingled with mine. It didn’t take much longer for me to crash, screaming, through an orgasm, and he followed soon after.

Afterward, he insisted on carrying me to the bedroom and set me down on the furs, only to have his way with me a second time. This time it was slower, and he let me take more control, teasing him as he had teased me. When we had both been completely satisfied, I draped myself over his chest and we let our hearts beat in time with one another.

“What did the Orlesians want?” I finally asked.

“The same thing they always want,” he grumbled. “More than they deserve. But if they think I’m giving up one iota of bargaining power just to appease them, they’ve got another thing coming.”

“Are you worried about them?” 

“A little,” he admitted. “It’s hard to see what their true intentions are. Everything is part of their blasted game, and I don’t have the patience to learn how to play.”

“Too bad Leliana isn’t around to help out,” I murmured. He sighed and stroked my hair.

“Well, she’s doing important work in the Chantry,” he reminded me. “She helps out when she can. Speaking of former companions…”

His voice trailed off. I sighed in response. It had been nice to forget about all that for the evening, but Alistair deserved to know what I had learned. Or rather, what I hadn’t.

“You have a son,” I started.

“Oh,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. He adored Elissa almost more than I did, but I knew it bothered him to have another child that he had no hand in raising. He had grown up a bastard, and it wasn’t something he would have wished for his own child.

“Morrigan was evasive, as always,” I continued. “But she mostly confirmed what we already knew.”

“Did she give us any new information?” he asked. I could feel him tense slightly beneath me. He had been hoping, just as I had, that Morrigan would know of a way to separate the old god’s soul from our daughter.

“She can’t remove it,” I related. “She doesn’t know how.”

“Oh,” he said again. This time I could hear the disappointment clearly, though he tried not to show it too much. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, and I squeezed him back. He didn’t have to tell me how he was feeling, nor I him. We knew. We both felt it.

“Did she give us anything helpful, or was she just a waste of time?” he muttered.

“She gave me a book about my family history,” I told him. “So...no. Nothing helpful.”

“Wait, a book?” he questioned. I sighed.

“Yes, although I’m not sure what for,” I complained. “It’s not like I have any interest.”

“Solona, I thought you were a commoner,” Alistair puzzled. His confusion made me sit up and look at him.

“I am,” I confirmed. “I grew up in a shack, practically.”

“But,” he protested. “They don’t write history books about commoners.”

He had a point. No wonder he was confused. I furrowed my brow. “I didn’t even think of that. I just stuffed it into my pack.”

“Do you still have it?”

I rolled to the other side of the bed and quickly padded over to my wardrobe where I had stuck my pack earlier. I dug out the volume and brought it back over to Alistair.

“This says Kirkwall,” he pointed out. “But you’re Ferelden.”

“Maybe it’s a different branch of the family?” I suggested. He looked at me dubiously and started paging through the book. I watched him nervously. I hadn’t even given it a second thought, but Alistair’s concern was contagious.

“Look, this book was updated only ten years ago,” he pointed out, his finger on the final entry, the death of a man called Lord Aristide Amell.

“That still doesn’t explain what they’ve got to do with me,” I said. “We may be such distant relations that my parents aren’t even listed in the book.”

Alistair scowled and flipped back a couple of pages, reading the entries closely. Every other paragraph, the furrow of his brow seemed to deepen.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he exclaimed, finally, and showed me the page. “That’s your name, Solona Amell, and that’s the year you were born. It even says that you were found to be a mage and sent to the Ferelden Circle by the Chantry at age five.”

“But that can’t be true,” I protested. “I remember being sent to the Chantry. I never crossed the ocean in my journey, and I lived on a farm before that, not in a city.”

“It says you’re the youngest daughter of Lady Revka Amell and her husband, Jadon,” Alistair continued. “It says you’ve got four siblings, three older sisters and a brother, all mages as well. It says that after your oldest sister was taken, your mother wept for her in the street, and then disappeared sometime after, at which point your father fled the city with his remaining children, including you, but they were later taken by the Chantry as well.”

This was hurting my head. It couldn’t possibly be true, and the idea that it was made me so angry I wanted to scream. “It’s a lie. It must be. I remember.”

Alistair looked at me with concern. This felt wrong, so so wrong. Like waking up in the dream of a Sloth demon. I got up and paced back and forth, clawing at my head. I remembered the shack I grew up in. I remembered my step-mother. I remembered my father giving me to the Templars. I didn’t remember Kirkwall, or anyone, let alone my mother, trying to stop the Templars. I didn’t remember having four siblings, or growing up in wealth, or crossing an ocean. Every time I thought about it, my brain screamed wrong, wrong, wrong. It hurt. Oh, god, it hurt to think about it. 

“Solona,” Alistair called out to me, but I couldn’t hear him over the roar in my own head. It felt like my mind was coming apart at the seams, splintering into fragments and floating away to leave me with gaping holes. I clutched at my head, trying to keep everything in place.

“Solona,” Alistair called again, more worry in his voice. He was just a faint echo. My head throbbed like it was in a vice, and I heard the growing cries of someone in distress. By the time I realized they were my cries, I was falling into unconsciousness.

 


	3. Found Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona quests to find the family she never knew she had and receives some unpleasant surprises in the process.

Someone had tampered with my memories. The Circle, of course, took absolutely no responsibility, but the evidence was all there. Alistair had used his considerable influence and a number of threats to have my intake papers sent over from Kinloch Hold.  I was, indeed, the daughter of Lady Revka Amell, born in Kirkwall, second youngest of five children. 

I varied between extremes, at times pacing the palace ramparts angrily raving and ranting at the cruelties that had been inflicted upon me, and at times sitting stoically in the library staring at nothing, trying futilely to make the information make sense with my memories. Occasionally, I had enough strength of mind to sit down and study the pages of the book, learning each family connection and committing their names to memory. 

The book suggested there were Amells in Ferelden. My aunt, Leandra, had fled here after eloping. I found records of a Leandra in Lothering, along with three children, but they seemed to disappear with the Blight. Perhaps they perished when Lothering was overtaken. It ate at me to think that perhaps I had encountered them when Alistair and I had passed through and had never known who they were.

The one Amell left in Kirkwall, Gamlen, I immediately wrote to, but I never heard a response.  Eventually, the letter came back marked, “Undeliverable.” 

Those closest to me, my siblings, were the most difficult to track down.  The Chantry opposed all of my requests for information, and even Alistair faced opposition after opposition. We eventually resorted to subterfuge and hired a spy to track down the information for us.  We were told it would take time, years even, to find them all. So I waited.

Marsa. Viveka. Darina. Galen. I repeated their names and birthdays over and over in my head. I wondered if they thought what I had, that they were given up voluntarily by people who did not care for them.  It broke my heart to think that someone had changed their memories as mine had been.

I had been loved. I had been wanted, and someone stole that away from me. And for what? To make sure I would never want to leave the Circle in search of my family? It was a justified fear. I hated living in the Circle enough as it was; I did not doubt that a loving family would have given me some incentive to try to escape. But that didn’t explain why, to my knowledge, I was the only one at Kinloch Hold who’s memories had been changed. What had been so special about me that someone went through an immense amount of trouble to make sure I would stay where I was? I was sure it had to have been someone in the Circle, as no one else would have had such abilities. The question was, did the order come from the Chantry, or was the decision made by the mage who did it?

Waiting around Denerim for information was starting to drive me mad, so Alistair pushed me to continue my work with the Grey Wardens.  I took frequent trips to our fortress at Amaranthine to supervise the rebuilding and occasionally trekked to Orlais to meet with Grey Warden commanders there. They had plenty of missions for me, and more than once I was able to venture into the deep roads and take out my frustrations on the darkspawn in order to bring back some relic or another.  There was an immense amount of studying that went on when there was no Blight. The Wardens seemed to be equal parts scholar and warrior, and I learned both history and physiology through my work.

I was in the middle of an argument with Velanna at Vigil’s Keep when I finally got any information.

“It’s 10% cheaper, and the shipments always come on time,” Velanna reasoned. “Sometimes they come early. Isn’t this better than giving money to the Chantry.”

“They’re criminals,” I tried to explain again, for the third time. “This is illegal lyrium, and the money goes to fund all the other shady activities of the Carta. You have to stop making these deals!”

“Your shemlen laws are preposterous. They don’t apply to the Dalish, and I don’t see why they should apply to the Grey Wardens. Isn’t our motto something like, ‘Victory at any cost’?”

“That’s not our motto.” I rubbed the space between my eyebrows, trying not to raise my voice with her. Yelling would only make her dig in her heels. “Our motto is, ‘In peace, vigilance.’ Meaning, make sure you can raise an army if the next Blight starts. We won’t be able to do that if all of the nobility think we’re in league with criminals and smugglers.”

“Fine, I will try to conduct our trades with more discretion so humans don’t discover us,” she agreed. I huffed out a sigh and let her walk away. It wasn’t the outcome I had wanted, but I often found it hard to argue with Velanna. She had no sense of social pressure, and her reputation, and the reputation of the Grey Wardens, meant absolutely nothing to her.

“Warden-Commander?” a small voice called from behind me.  I turned to find a royal messenger standing not five feet away, a crisp parchment letter in his outstretched hand, the wax seal of the crown clearly visible. “His Majesty said I was to deliver this to you straight away and to give you my horse. He said you wouldn’t want to wait.”

I snatched the letter from him, my brow furrowed. The wax easily gave way, and I almost ripped the paper in my eagerness to get it open. Inside, in the neat handwriting of a scribe, were four names and locations. Marsa at Ansburg, in the Free Marches. Viveka at Cumberland, in Nevarra. Darina at Ghislain, in Orlais. Galen at Val Royeaux, in Orlais.

It had taken almost a full year, but I finally knew where my family was. I looked up at the messenger. “The horse?”

“Saddled at the gate. His Majesty will meet you in Amaranthine.”

I left at once. I had nothing packed, but it only took me a few hours to reach the city, and Alistair had everything I needed.

“Both your uniforms are in there, some healing potions, and a dozen bottles of lyrium,” he said, handing the pack to me almost as soon as I dismounted. “I also packed a book about darkspawn spell casters and a list of enchanters at each of the circles that would know anything about them, just in case you need cover for why you’re visiting. And I packed the white boots Leliana sent for your birthday. They’re not broken in, and they are absurdly tall, but I’m told they’re all the fashion in Orlais, so it might win you a few points in The Game.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving again?” I asked. Lately, I had been gone more than I had been with him and Elissa.  I missed them terribly, but I couldn’t suppress the urgency I felt to keep moving, to find my family. Alistair answered with a kiss.

“The only reason I’m not okay with it is that I should be going with you,” he admitted, leaning his forehead against mine. “Go to Ansburg first, then Cumberland, then Ghislain. I might be able to join you at Val Royeaux.”

“Give Elissa my love,” I told him.

“Every day,” he promised. “Just wait. By the time you get back with all your siblings in tow, she’ll be singing arias.”

I smiled at the image for a moment, then froze. “Am I bringing them back?”

“I…” he frowned at my question. “I guess I just assumed. If you can, why not?”

“They’d be apostates.”

“So?” he shrugged. “I’m the King of Ferelden, in case you’ve forgotten. Any Templar comes after them, they’ll face the might of the Ferelden army.”

I shook my head. “How many times are you going to try to pick a fight with the Chantry?”

“Until they agree to let us marry,” he declared. It had been a sore spot for him for three years now, the Chantry’s refusal to support our union. I didn’t care, but he wanted the ceremony, the big fancy cake, the sparkling jewels, the right to claim his daughter as his legitimate heir. 

“Let’s just see if they want to leave the Circle, first,” I offered. He nodded.

“Alright, but one of these days you’re going to have to let me take them head-on.” He placed his palm on my cheek, and I leaned into it. “I will never forgive them for what they’ve done to you.”

I kissed him one more time, then boarded the ship he had hired and set sail for the Free Marches.

The journey to Ansburg was long and arduous. The ocean tossed us about like a dog with a doll, and I arrived at the port in Wycome several pounds lighter, having hurled most attempts at eating over the side of the ship along the way.  From there, a riverboat took us upstream to Ansburg.

I had spent a great deal of the journey planning exactly how I would infiltrate the Circle. I would tell them as little as I could, claiming some secret Warden mission for which I needed access to their records. From there, I would strike up a conversation with whichever apprentice was sent to assist me, ask for a tour, and overwhelm them with my overt friendliness. It wasn’t a great plan, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The knight-captain in charge of the Circle didn’t seem at all interested in anything I had to say and simply muttered, “don’t make a mess,” before wandering off.

The Ansburg Circle was quiet and felt almost empty. There was a great greenhouse, and most of the mages, of which there seemed to be few, studied potions and creation magick. No one was sent to assist me, so I paged through the official records, looking for any sign of Marsa.

When I found her name, my heart dropped. It was written in small letters next to the date at which she arrived. Then there was a dash, followed by a second date and the words “Failed Harrowing (deceased).”

I felt the burning heat of injustice creep up the back of my throat and clutched the edges of the book, trying to keep in the scream of rage that threatened to tear free.  All this time, my sister had been dead for years already. Our mother had wept for her in the streets of Kirkwall as the Chantry dragged her away, and her fate had been death by beheading. In that moment, I wished more than anything I knew the name of the Templar who did it.  I had seen that demon possession was curable, but instead, the Chantry sentenced us to death for failing some stupid test we never volunteered for in the first place. My hand tingled with fury, and as hot, angry tears filled my vision, I saw the name appear at the tip of my fingers: Templar Aden Valois.

I snatched my hands away from the book and took a deep breath, my anger replaced by shock. I had done it again. Let my emotions fuel a spell that shouldn’t have even been possible. I shook my head and let my training level out my emotions. I didn’t want harm to come to Valois. He was a pawn in the system of the Chantry. It might have been his blade that spilled my blood, but it was the Chantry that killed her. And I still had three more siblings to save.

In Cumberland, I met Viveka, a beautiful woman just three years my senior.  She greeted me with a pleasant smile, her eyes emotionless and flat.

“Welcome, Warden-Commander Amell, how may I be of service today?” she asked, inclining her head to me.

“Could you give me a tour of the building?” I asked.

“Of course,” she replied and led me on.  I swallowed that same rage I had felt in Ansburg as she gave a factual telling of the features of the Cumberland Circle, sprinkling in a bit of relevant history here and there.

“May I ask you a question, Viveka?”

“Of course, Warden-Commander.”

“How did you become Tranquil?” I tried to keep the words even, but they felt like poison in my mouth.

“It was determined that I was susceptible to blood magic, and the Rite was performed to prevent the instance of possession,” she informed me.

“Were you?” I asked. She cocked her head to the side, thinking for a moment.

“I believe it was possible,” she finally admitted. “I was a very angry young woman, if I recall, and was often in trouble. I do not recall ever engaging in blood magic practices, nor researching them, but my behavior warranted concern.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wanted to reach out to her, but I knew it wouldn’t matter.

“I am content now,” she said. “The anger left me as the magic did, and I no longer dream of a past I did not experience.”

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean, you dreamed of a past you didn’t experience?”

“One of the reasons I was so angry was the dreams in which I had a loving father who begged the Templars not to take me, and three younger siblings,” she explained. My heart stopped. “Such things cannot be true, however. I was raised on a farm near the Silent Plains, and I had no father. My mother could not care for me, and left me with the Chantry as soon as I began to show signs of magical ability.”

I felt like my insides were being crushed. She, too, had had her memories tampered with. And when she had begun to realize the truth, they had robbed her of her humanity. 

“Are you safe here, Viveka? Would you ever want to live away from the Circle?” 

“I am content here,” she said, and I felt disappointed. I didn’t want to ask her to leave if she wanted to stay. “But I think I would be more content elsewhere.”

My heart rose. If she wanted to leave, I could make it happen.

In the end, it came down to money and favors, as everything did. Grand Enchanter Briaus approved her transfer to the Formari outpost in Denerim with the promise that I would recruit a recently Harrowed mage to the Grey Wardens, no questions asked. I did so, and he promised to send her off within the month. I wrote to Alistair to expect her and protect her, then set off for Ghislain.

Darina recognized me immediately. It would have been impossible not to.  Only a year older than I, we were almost identical. Her nose was a little more prominent, with a bump in the middle, and she had dimples when she smiled, but the resemblance was stunning. Even the Templar who introduced us had to do a double take.

“I think I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered once he had retreated aways. “I think I knew you were coming. I could feel it.”

“I’m Solona,” I introduced, extending my hand. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I think I knew that, too.”

She told me the story she had grown up with, of being rejected by her family, poor farmers from The Blasted Hills. She said she had always known it was wrong, like the way a small child knows that an animal cannot speak, no matter how many storybooks say otherwise. She was a poised and collected woman, but I could see the way her mind was always turning, eyes always watching, ears always listening. Sometimes, her speech would slow as she turned her head to catch a bit of conversation that floated down the corridor, but it was always subtle, as if she were just trying to decide what to say next.

“You’re not safe here,” I finally said.

“The Circle was designed to keep mages safe,” she recited, but one eyebrow rose as if to say,  _ of course, I’m not. None of us are. But we are always being listened to _ .

“I am Warden-Commander of Ferelden,” I said, changing tactics. “After I ended the Blight, I was charged with rebuilding the order in that region. I have made great strides already, but our greatest weakness is our small numbers.”

“It would be terrible for another Blight to come so quickly, before you had a chance to recruit enough talented warriors,” she commented, nodding slightly. She was catching on.

“Warriors, we have plenty of,” I corrected. “Every son of a minor noble who’s ever picked up a sword is eager to don the blue, these days. They long for the glory of it.”

“I’ve heard that Grey Wardens recruit from all types of people,” she stated. “Is that true?”

“Diversity of ability is necessary when victory must come at any cost,” I confirmed. “Even mages are important to the Order. To be truly successful against the Blight, we must have intelligent and powerful mages to support our warriors and archers.”

“Like you?”

“Yes, just like me.” We stopped and she smiled knowingly at me, encouraging me to continue. “What school of magic do you study, Darina?”

“Entropy,” she answered.

“In battle, entropy is a highly valued discipline. Would you ever consider joining the order?”

“How could I reject the offer of such a noble cause?” She exclaimed. “But I am afraid it’s not up to me. You would have to convince the First Enchanter and the Templar-Commander.”

“Will you introduce me?”

The First Enchanter at Ghislain was a weak-willed man that couldn’t get over the double image of two Amell mages standing before him.  I commanded him to approve Darina’s release, and he readily agreed, staring at us in confusion. The Templar-Commander was more difficult to convince, so I used a trick I had picked up from Leliana.

“Do you work for the darkspawn, Commander?” I demanded of him, accusation in my voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he spat back. “I am faithful to the Maker.”

“If that’s true, why do you stand in the way of the Grey Wardens being able to defend the Maker’s people?” I pressed, resting both hands on his desk and leaning over it to stare him down. Question his morality. Invade his personal space. Overwhelm him with questions.

“I highly doubt one mage will make a differe-”

“I was just one mage,” I cut him off. “If I hadn’t joined, would you have put on the blue and stopped the Blight from spreading across all of Thedas?”

“I am a Templar, I couldn’t-”

“You mean you wouldn’t,” I interpreted. “You would have stood aside as Ferelden was ravaged, as Orlais was blackened, as thousands upon thousands of innocents perished, or worse.”

“I hardly think it’s fair to-”

“The Blight doesn’t care what is fair, Commander.” He was leaning back now, away from me, and his eyes refused to meet mine. “The Grey Wardens don’t care what is fair either. That’s why we take on the burden of fighting darkspawn, so that you can stay safe and cozy in your Circle. This mage is willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, and you would deny that?”

“I’m not denying that you need mages, but-”

“I will leave here with a new recruit, Commander,” I inform him. “If it’s not her, then it will be you.”

He blanched and swallowed.

“Alright, you can take her,” he finally said. I didn’t revel in my victory or celebrate. I stood up slowly, never breaking my gaze as he prepared the required paperwork that would allow her to travel before taking the Joining. She, too, kept her composure, even as we packed.  It wasn’t until we had left Ghislain beyond the horizon that she began to relax.

“You don’t have to be a Grey Warden,” I told her.

“Don’t you need talented mages?”

“Yes, but it’s not an easy life. It’s dangerous, and we don’t live as long. I will not hold you to it. I can send you to Denerim, and you will be safe there.” She shook her head at my offer.

“I don’t want safety, I want freedom,” she told me. “And I want a purpose that is greater than myself.  There is risk in everything, but as a Grey Warden, the risk seems worth it.”

I thought of the drawbacks I couldn’t tell her about.  The nightmares, the Taint, the 10-30 years before the Calling.  Was it worth it? It had seemed so when I was facing down the darkspawn horde.  But now I had a daughter waiting for me at home, and chances were, I might not see her full grown.  Someday I would leave her and Alistair, go into the Deep Roads, and never return. If I was lucky, I’d see her to be older than I was now, but I wasn’t always lucky. I might only have a few more years left, and much of them I would spend away from home anyway.

In the end, Darina decided to stay with it.  We would travel to Val Royeaux together, then she would continue on to Jader, where she would undertake the Joining and hopefully take a post at Vigil’s Keep, where I could see her often. But even if she didn’t, I would see her as often as I could.  I had a sister now, and I wasn’t going to let her slip away.

Now all I needed to do was free our little brother.


	4. The Gallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona finds her brother in the worst of places, and an old adversary reappears.

Galen was not in The White Spire.  It took Alistair and I a full week to learn that. Neither of us were given the access we had requested, and it wasn’t until I had threatened the First Enchanter herself with conscription that she finally let us look at the records.

Galen had been transferred to Kirkwall six months before I arrived. Alistair cut short all the state dinners and diplomatic meetings he had scheduled, much to the ire of his advisors, and we left immediately for the city-state. 

The passage across the Waking Sea was much calmer than had been the one from Amaranthine to Wycombe, and I often found myself pacing the deck, Alistair at my side. 

“From everything I've heard, Kirkwall isn't a good place to be a mage,” Alistair shared. The wind ruffled his hair, which he had cut short again. Teagan had made an off-hand comment about the Orlesians responding to a more polished look in reference to the waves that Alistair had grown out, and the next day he had cut it short again. 

“Nowhere is,” I lamented, my eyes fixed on the forward horizon. 

“This is a whole other level,” he countered. “We've had an influx of mage refugees petitioning us for asylum. Three in the last four months alone. I don't know  _ where _ everyone got the idea I liked mages so much.” 

He bumped my shoulder with his own, and I had to smile. “Thank you for giving them shelter.” 

“Well, what was I supposed to do? I always think to myself, ‘What would the Chantry want me to do?’ And then I do the opposite. Sometimes I write Leliana for advice, just so I know exactly which course of action will upset the Divine the most. You know she's the Left Hand now, or so I've heard.”

“She always was devout,” I recalled. 

“Yes, but can you see her, communing with the Holiest woman in Thedas, knowing what we know?” he asked, one eyebrow raising as he leaned against the ship railing. “We've seen her drunk, in the lap of a pirate, covered in blood, and with twigs in her hair after falling asleep on the ground. Hardly what you'd expect from someone so high up.”

I shrugged. I wished her well, but I didn't care about Leliana's career advancements. I was single-minded in my drive towards Kirkwall. “What can we expect when we land?” 

“I don't know,” Alistair admitted. “Most of the Qunari are gone now, but some of the city has yet to be rebuilt. There's no Viscount, which is my primary concern. That Knight-Commander Meredith seems to be running things. She is not friendly. At all.”

“Do we have any allies?” I asked. 

“Well, Teagan will be there with us,” he reminded me. 

“I mean, any allies in the city?” 

“Oh. Not really,” he grimaced. “I wrote to the Champion, a woman called Hawke, and I'm hoping she'll be of help, but I can't be sure. That's why I am being the distraction while you sneak into the Circle. You know they call it the Gallows? How morbid.”

“And you're still okay with that? Being the distraction?” I asked again. 

“Sure,” he assured me. “I've never had a problem distracting you.” 

He leaned forward, his face screwed up into an exaggerated pucker, and waited for me to kiss him. A chuckle broke through my wall of anxiety, and I cupped his cheek and brought my lips to his. I had meant for it to be a quick, chaste peck, but things so rarely followed my intentions. Kissing him was better than wine for my nerves, and I tarried long enough for him to catch me in his arms and deepen it. His mouth opened and his tongue flicked against my lips until I responded in kind. I wound my arms around his shoulders, pressing the length of my body against him, and I could feel him respond to me through the firm leather of my uniform. 

“Maker's breath,” he moaned when we parted for breath. “Either we need to go below deck, or I need to dismiss the entire crew.”

“Below deck,” I chose. Alistair spent much of the remaining journey distracting me in much the same fashion. 

When we landed in Kirkwall, I hung around the ship until Alistair’s official retinue had long left. I didn’t want anyone connecting our appearances. As a nameless Grey Warden, I could easily slip around the city without drawing much attention because few people here would have even an inkling of what the Hero of Ferelden looked like, but I wasn’t going to bet on the inability of Marchers to connect the dots if they saw a dark-haired Grey Warden acolyte in the company of the King of Ferelden. As it was, I only had a few askance looks as I made my way to the Gallows.

The forecourt of the Gallows was a space originally intended to break the spirit of slaves during the time of Tevinter rule. It seemed a fitting choice for the Chantry to repurpose it as a prison for mages.  There was a small market where the Formari sold their herbs, as well as a few other merchants, but the overwhelming presence was that of the Templars. They were posted against every pillar and congregated in groups. Here or there was a stray Tranquil, but there were no mages visible.  It made me chary and suspicious. It was like they were going out of their way to boast of their military force, creating an atmosphere of oppression before one even stepped within.

I jogged up the steps and arranged my face into the look of determination I had cultivated while training the new Wardens I had recruited back in Ferelden. It often curbed the tendency of noble recruits to question my orders, and I hoped it would have the same effect on whatever Templars I passed on the way in. 

“Halt, mage,” came a gruff voice. It seemed the Templars were not as impressed by me as my recruits.

“You may address me as Warden-Commander,” I rebuked him, stopping in my tracks and giving him a withering gaze. He didn’t look cowed.

“Your uniform is all that is keeping you from being arrested as an apostate,  _ mage _ ,” he sneered. I narrowed my eyes and forced my body into a relaxed posture. He wanted to intimidate me, fear his most ready weapon, but I had long since left behind my ability to be influenced by Templar intimidation.

“I need access to the Circle’s archives,  _ guard _ ,” I demanded. “Allow me to pass.”

“You cannot enter the Circle. Not without prior approval.” One hand had crept to the hilt of his sword, and I became aware that our exchange had drawn the attention of two other Templars.

“Grey Wardens don’t need prior approval. We fight the darkspawn so that you can keep your cushy post,” I countered.

“Be on your way, or you may find yourself in trouble,” he warned. I smiled at his threat.

“Trouble? What trouble? I’ve fought dragons and darkspawn and barely got any blood on my uniform. What could you do that they can’t?” I asked. He involuntarily leaned back. No doubt, he wasn’t used to a mage so openly challenging his authority, let alone claiming battle proficiency. Finally, he sighed.

“If you want in, you’ll either have to get prior approval from the Knight-Commander or plead your case to the Knight-Captain,” he suggested.

“And where can I find this Knight-Captain?”

“Go back down the steps and to the left,” he directed. 

I did as he instructed and descended the stairs, then looked around for the correct uniform.  He saw me before I saw him, and the sound of his voice made my blood run cold.

“Solona Amell?” Cullen’s voice had changed little, but his face had. He had lost the smooth skin of youth, and there was a gauntness to his cheeks and a hardness to the set of his frown, which was now deepened as he looked at me. My hand went for the dagger at my waist. I wasn’t stupid enough to attempt magic in a courtyard full of Templars, but I remembered the promise I had given him the last time we had met. Steel killed as good as ice or fire.

“I’m looking for the Knight-Captain,” I said, my voice hard and flat.

“I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “I am the Knight-Captain.”

“I need access to the Circle’s archives.”

“What for?” he questioned. He didn’t approach me, and for that I was grateful, but the result was us conversing over 20 feet apart, our voices loud enough to draw attention from others.

“Grey Warden business,” I claimed. His brows furrowed, and he shook his head a little.

“I’ll need a bit more information than that, Solona,” he said.

“Warden-Commander,” I corrected. He closed his eyes briefly and grimaced.

“Yes, Warden-Commander. I heard about your promotion. Congratulations.” It was then that he took a step forward. I unsheathed my dagger reflexively, gripping it tightly and holding it at waist height. Cullen’s eyes flicked to it, and he froze. The Templar flanking him saw it too and put her hand on her own weapon. 

“I’ve done much to bolster Warden forces in Ferelden,” I said. “I am not a woman to be trifled with.”

“I haven’t forgotten our last conversation,” he said slowly, his hands raised defensively. “I just though a bit more discretion could be exercised if we were able to lower our voices.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I argued. “I am not in the business of sharing sensitive information of my order. Either you let me into the Circle, or you do not. Either way, our conversation is over.”

He lowered his hands and took a step back, sighing. “Templar Sharen, please escort the Warden-Commander to the Circle’s libraries and provide her whatever assistance she requires.”

“But Captain,” the woman protested, her eyes flicking back and forth between Cullen and myself. 

“The Grey Wardens deserve deference, Sharen,” he cut in. “You will show her the respect her station deserves.”

“Yes, Captain,” she acquiesced. “Follow me messer.”

Templar Sharen led me back up the stairs. I stared pointedly ahead as we passed the Templar guard that had waylaid me to begin with, only a ghost of a smug smile on my lips.

The library she led me to was empty, not just of mages, but of many books, as well. There were more shelves empty than occupied, the few books that remained in no discernable order.

“What happened here?” I asked aloud.

“The Knight-Commander ordered the destruction of all books with handwritten notes in them,” Sharen explained. “The mages were using them to pass knowledge of blood magic from one to another. It was a necessary precaution.”

My heart ached for the knowledge that had been lost.  I recalled writing my own notes in the volumes at Kinloch Hold, making annotations and connections between spells and reading the tips others had left behind. I could only assume that the mages here had done the same, not because the accusations against them were true, but because that was the habit of scholars. Even if the books could be replaced, which looked unlikely to happen in this place, there must have been generations of discoveries written in the margins that would be lost forever.

“Where are the records kept?” I asked, shaking my head free of the sorrow at the loss before me. I still had to find Galen.

“What records?” she asked, I narrowed my eyes at her. 

“The records of the Circle,” I clarified. “The ones that list the information of the mages kept here. Arrival, Harrowing, School, Tranquility, Research, Discoveries. Are there other records that are kept here?”

“No, Warden-Commander,” she answered, avoiding my gaze. “It’s just that the records have been damaged. I’m not sure what happened, exactly. But I do know that, for the most part, they’ve been destroyed.”

I rounded on the woman, letting my anger lift my head and lower my shoulders. She was making a concerted effort not to draw back. 

“You go tell your Knight-Captain that the state of this Circle is disgraceful,” I growled. She didn’t answer, just nodded and scurried off.  I turned back to the empty shelves and looked at the volumes that were left. There looked to be no rhyme or reason to the ones that were spared. Some looked new enough that no one had made notes within their pages, while others were ancient, worn, and delicate. There were a few history books, one or two herbal guides, and a handful of volumes on Dalish magical practices. Little else of value remained.  It was unsettling to be in such a large library with no mages and few books. Was this what would have happened at Kinloch Hold if I hadn’t intervened? Was this what would have been left after the annulment?

I heard the door open again and expected it was Cullen who had entered, or his little minion to relay whatever useless message he sent.

“The loss of knowledge here is an utter disgrace,” I rebuked, keeping my back turned.

“I am sorry, Warden,” came the voice of a young man. “We tried to rescue as many books as we could, but then our rooms were raided, too.”

I turned to look at the new visitor.  He was a mage, his robes those of an enchanter, his shaggy black hair tied back into a ponytail. He didn’t carry a staff, but he did carry a broom and a towel.

“What, you can’t even clean with magic anymore?” I exclaimed.

“Unfortunately, no,” he smiled ruefully. “It’s almost like being born without magic. Almost.”

“I’m sorry about the books,” I offered. “No Circle deserves to be treated this way.”

“There are many who would disagree with you, Warden,” he said. “From the moment I arrived, I’ve seen some of the terrible views many hold of us. Some days, I’m shocked there still remains mages who have not been made Tranquil. But, with no Viscount and Meredith on the warpath, I suspect that won’t remain true for long.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“About a year.”

“Were you an apostate before?” 

“No, worse. I was Orlesian,” he laughed. “I suspect my training in the Game is what has kept me safe here.  I know how to fly under the radar and trade favors for reputation. Although, I did have to undergo the Harrowing a second time when I arrived.”

“Orlesian?” I inquired. He looked to be in his early twenties, with shiny black hair, impossibly dark eyes, and pale, olive-toned skin. “You’re Galen.”

He stared at me with suspicion. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” I said, taking a few rapid steps toward him. He pulled the broom in front of himself and took a defensive stance.

“Why?”

“You’re Galen Amell,” I told him. It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway. “My name is Solona Amell.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” It had been so easy with Darina, who had just seemed to know.  How did I explain to Galen that his memories were wrong? How would I have wanted it explained to me”

“Will you tell me of your childhood?” I asked instead. He eyed me suspiciously but relaxed a little.

“I was born in southern Orlais,” he began. “My family was poor, or rather, my father was. My mother died in childbirth. One particularly cold winter, I accidentally burned our little hut down. My father took me to the Templars the next day. I was 7 years old. I haven’t seen him since.”

“What if I said that was wrong?” 

“I think I remember my own childhood,” he scoffed.

“I thought so too,” I nodded. “I thought my father had given me up at the behest of his new wife. That he didn’t really love me, and that I had no other family.  Then someone gave me a book with my name in it, along with a lot of other names. Names of my relatives, all of whom turned out to be nobility in the city of Kirkwall.”

“And what, I’m your long lost cousin?” he huffed. “If my family was noble, I would still be at the White Spire, not back here. Not to mention, the Chantry doesn’t place a mage so close to their family, unless that family spends a lot of money to make it happen. No one has spent money on me.”

“I thought I was an only child, but that turned out to be a lie,” I continued. “I am actually the fourth child out of five, and my childhood memories were a lie. I started looking for my siblings, who all turned out to be mages. The eldest, Marse, I found had failed her Harrowing, while Viveka was made Tranquil. But Darina I found, and I freed her from the Circle in Ghislain. I was told that my younger brother was at Val Royeaux, but when I arrived, I found he had been sent to Kirkwall.”

“No, you are mistaken,” he said, shaking his head. “Someone mislead you. I am not your brother; I’m not anyone’s brother. I’m just some poor farmer’s cursed son.”

“You are,” I insisted. I could see how the information was affecting him.  He was breathing heavily as his mind worked to reconcile the past he remembered with what I had revealed. If I wasn’t careful, he’d pass out, as I had. I slowly approached him again, and this time he let me. I took one of his hands in my own and waited for him to look at me.

“You know magic,” I said, my voice soft and pleading. “You know the kinds of things it can do. Someone decided the Amell children needed to forget who they were and gave us false childhoods. But look at me. You can see the similarities in our faces. Please, believe me.”

He looked at me for a long while, studying my face with an unreadable expression. But he didn’t let go of my hand. I let him look, giving him as much time to process the information as he liked. I didn’t know what I would do if he rejected the truth. Eventually, he exhaled a long sigh.

“Even if what you say is true, what does it matter?” he asked. My heart fell. It wasn’t even close to the reception I had been hoping for.

“I needed you to know you aren’t alone, that you have family that loves you, wants you.” He smiled sadly and pulled his hand from mine.

“And now? I’m still in here,” he shrugged. “Even as a Grey Warden, it’s not like you can come and go as you please.  So, we exchange a few letters for a few years, and then life gets in the way. Maybe Meredith finally kills us all. Maybe the darkspawn get you. Or maybe we just find we have less and less to say.”

“You don’t… want to have a family?” I ask, confused. “When I was in the Circle, knowing there was someone on the outside who cared about me would have made a difference.”

“Would it have?” he questioned. “I’ve seen so many who claimed they are loved, and still find themselves succumbing to the isolation.”

“What if I could get you out?” I asked. “If I gave you an out, would you take it?”

“Gladly,” he affirmed. “But I don’t think you can. Meredith doesn’t let mages just leave. I don’t think she would even respect the Rite of Conscription, if you were thinking of pulling that card.”

I could feel my face fall. I knew things were bad in Kirkwall, but I had still held out hope I could do something. Even if Alistair used his influence to pressure Meredith, it seemed like she would not budge. Perhaps there was a way I could smuggle him out.

“I thank you for coming,” he interrupted my thinking, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It means something that you would make the effort, but even if you could get me out, I’m not sure I would leave.”

“Why would you stay?” I asked, dumbfounded. 

“I can help,” he said simply. “Even if it’s only to comfort the other mages trapped here. I won’t run from this. Not when doing so would cause more to suffer in my absence.”

I nodded. It was the one answer he could give me that I would accept.  Helping others was my whole mission in life, and although he chose a subtler path, I could not deny him his effort.

“This won’t be the last time we meet,” I promised him. “I will keep an eye on the situation here, and if you change your mind and want out, I will find a way to make it happen.”

“Huh,” he said, cocking his head. “I’ve had a big sister for five minutes, and she’s already overprotective.”

“Yes, well…” I had to smile. “I’ve been looking for you for years now. You could hardly blame me.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “I just need some time to process this.”

“Of course,” I said. “At least you didn’t faint.”

“Did you?”

“I, uh...It was very disorienting.”

He nodded and we lapsed into silence.  My brother, and I didn’t even know what to say to him for five minutes more. I had thought our next move would be to start planning his exit, but without a goal, I was at a loss. This was why I spent so little time at court. I could never stand still long enough to learn the dances. I wanted to always be on the move, and now there was no place for me to move to. My mission was complete; I had found the last of my siblings. There was nothing further for me to do.

“I actually do need to get to cleaning,” Galen finally said. “Hopefully, one day there will be a proper library again in here, and I want to keep it ready for when that happens.”

“Yes, quite right,” I agreed and stepped out of his way. “I should be on my way anyway. Before someone looks too closely at what a Grey Warden wants with an empty library.”

I headed for the door and was about to push through it when Galen called out to me.

“Solona, what about our parents?” he asked, his face wincing at whatever fear he had. I shook my head sadly.

“Our mother disappeared shortly after they took Marse. Our father died. No records of how, but it happened about the time Viveka was taken, so I think it might have been Templars,” I told him. “But everything I’ve found indicates that they loved us very much. I think if either of them lived, we would know. They would have found us.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I deserve to have parents who loved me. You do too. If I am wrong, I hope I never learn of it.”

“Thank you,” he said, and I left him to his work.

One the way out, I passed Cullen and his minion in the corridor.  He called out to me, but I strode past him, refusing to even acknowledge his presence. He hurried after me, and I could hear the echoes of his footsteps like drums of war.  I clenched my fists tightly, trying to keep down my anger and the helplessness I felt. I blamed him for Galen’s choice to stay. I blamed all Templars, truly, but Cullen had power here, and he did nothing. When I reached the front gate, it was blocked by two more Templars, and they made no move to make way for me. It was only then that I rounded to face him.

“What more could you possibly have to say to me?” I spat at him, my fist suddenly raised, an arcane sword formed in its grip. I hadn’t even thought to form the weapon, but more and more, my powers were manifesting in surprising and disconcerting ways. Those around us reacted instantly. The other Templars in the hall had their weapons drawn, and even Cullen had his hand on the hilt of his sword, though he had not yet freed it. I wouldn’t back down. I took a step toward him as he took a step back.

“Warden-Commander, do not do something you will regret,” he cautioned.

“What do you know of regret?” I demanded. “You have never been circumspect enough to evaluate your own actions. Even now, you wield your power as if it is your might that makes you righteous.”

“That’s not fair,” he protested. “I am not the same man as I was the last time we met. You no longer know me well enough to judge.”

“Don’t I?” I challenged. “Where is the evidence of your change? You once begged me to kill a room full of mages on the mere chance they were corrupted. I see here more Tranquil than apprentice and enchanter combined. You still view us as monsters and murderers.”

“You don’t know what it’s been like here,” he protested.

“And you still refuse to take responsibility for your part in it.”

“If this is about what happened in Ferelden, I am sorry for the things you experienced,” he offered, his eyes dropping, but only slightly.

“What you put me though,” I hissed. “Even now, you absolve yourself without atonement.”

“Warden-Commander,” he said again, his voice a little harder, a little more dangerous. “Do not exacerbate the tensions here because of a personal dispute. Grey Warden or no Grey Warden, you are a mage in a building full of Templars.”

I wanted to scream at him, but he was right. I was vastly outnumbered, and I didn’t think Alistair would appreciate having to wage war against Kirkwall to avenge me. And he absolutely would go to war. I let go of the arcane blade, and it dissipated before hitting the floor. No one relaxed or lowered their weapons, but I didn’t let that phase me. I turned on my heel and stormed out.


	5. Family Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall turns out to be full of familiar faces, and Solona finally gets an answer to one of her questions.

I had one other mission I needed to accomplish while in Kirkwall. Since I had never received word back from Gamlen Amell, I could only assume he was either dead or no longer reachable. However, the Amell estate was still intact, and I was hoping the new residents would let me paw through the basement for any remaining family history that had been left behind.  It was tucked into a little courtyard not far from the Viscount’s keep, so Alistair had plans to meet me there after he concluded his business at the keep. If I could not convince the owners to grant me access, perhaps a visiting king could.

I knocked on the freshly painted red door. A dwarf opened it.

“Bodhan?”

“Warden Amell!” he exclaimed. “Or, sorry, should I call you Hero now? Or Warden-Commander?”

“Solona still works,” I reminded him, and I leaned into a hug. The cheery merchant had been a life-saver more than once along the Imperial Highway, always showing up just when I needed him with just the supplies I needed, and his son, Sandal, was a savant with runes. Alistair still had a sword that caught fire when he wielded it, although now it was only used to entertain visitors.

He let me inside, and I saw a richly decorated foyer that obviously preceded a grand mansion. I wondered if I had ever been here before, perhaps when I was very small, or even just a babe. 

“Do you own this home?” I asked, stunned. He must have done well for himself.

“Goodness, no!” he answered. “Could you imagine? A dwarf like me living like a noble Marcher. No, I work for the master of the house, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“This is Serah Hawke’s home?” I questioned. 

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed, nodding vigorously. “Apparently, it’s a family home. She had to take it back by force, then pay the Viscount to reinstate the deed. It was quite the adventure. After coming back from the Deep Roads- that’s how she made her fortune- she invited me to live here and help her out. How could I say no to that?”

“A family home?” I asked. How could this be her family home? Had I gotten the wrong address?

“She’s out now, but there’s someone in the study you could talk to,” he informed me, leading me to a side door, opening it, and ushering me through. Inside was a library stuffed with books on two levels. In front of a raging fire was a mage, his feet propped up on a stool and a book open in his lap. He looked up at me with only vague interest, then leapt to his feet, staff in hand, when he realized who I was.

“Have you come to arrest me?” Anders asked with trepidation in his voice.

“Arrest you? Why would I do that?” I asked, barely comprehending his appearance. Was the entire city populated solely by my former acquaintances? 

“For… desertion, I think,” he answered, his brows furrowed.

“The Grey Wardens do not arrest deserters,” I laughed. “You cannot run from what is in your blood.”

“Oh, well…” he relaxed and lowered his staff. “I guess, then… It’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“I…” I didn’t know how much to tell him. Anders had been a loyal companion while Vigil’s Keep was rebuilt, but he had also disappeared without a trace around the same time Justice did. He hadn’t even warned me like Morrigan had before she disappeared. Just, one day I was giving out assignments, and he wasn’t there anymore. “I needed to speak with Serah Hawke. You are acquainted, I presume?”

“Ah, yes, quite well,” he admitted sheepishly, a slight blush building in his cheeks.

“Oh, you are together?” I guessed.

“No, not exactly,” he corrected. “I mean, I’m not Isabela, but we’re close. She’s my… friend.”

I suspected that there was more to it than that, but I didn’t press. I wasn’t exactly being forthcoming either. “Will she arrive soon, do you think?”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged, then gestured to an armchair. “You’re welcome to stay until she does.”

“Thank you,” I accepted, and sat down.

“So…” The silence between us was awkward, and Anders seemed as uncomfortable with it as I did. “How is… wait, didn’t you have a kid?”

“Yes, a daughter,” I confirmed.

“How is baby Amell? Or would it be baby Theirin? Is she a princess?”

“Yes, technically she is a princess,” I confirmed. “And she is almost six years old, now. She looks like me, but she behaves like her father more and more as she grows. She’s very active. I heard that she rode her horse into the palace ballroom a few months ago.”

“You heard? You don’t see her often?” he asked, concern on her face.

“I have been abroad for some time now,” I told him, shrugging. “I am seldom home for more than a month at a time, and my duties as a Warden necessitate I leave often.”

“I’m sorry,” he commiserated. “It can’t be easy to have a family when your duty so often draws you away.”

I nodded but smiled. “It is still better than not having them at all. I know that they are there, safe and happy, even if I cannot be with them.”

“And what of your… husband? Did you ever actually marry him?”

“We have yet to win that battle with the Chantry,” I sigh. “But he is determined to win.”

“He thinks he’s going to win a battle against the Chantry?” Anders scoffed. “That would be a truly impressive feat. If he does, I’ll have to ask him for pointers.”

We turned as we heard the front door open and several pairs of boots stomp into the foyer. Voices floated to us through the partially open door.

“This is silly,” a silky female voice said, the pout evident in her tone. “I don’t want to argue.”

“Do you want to guess what color my underclothes are again?” came the response in a low-pitched, gravelly voice. 

“Oh, yes!” the woman exclaimed. “That’s much more fun.”

“Isabela, when are you going to learn that he does not wear underclothes?” prodded a third voice, light with amusement.

“Looks like she’s home,” Anders remarked, a smirk on his lips. “And she’s brought friends.”

Anders rose and crossed to the door, and I rose as well. He opened the door fully and called to the party. 

“Hawke, Isabela, Fenris, we have company.” The three newcomers crowded the doorway as Anders stepped back to introduce me. “This is my former commanding officer: Solona Amell, Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

The trio that gazed at me was a motley looking bunch. A pretty looking woman with hair and skin almost the same shade of brown stood at the front wearing light armor of red leather, large staps bucked across her chest and fearsome-looking epaulets perched on her shoulders. At her left flank was an elf with white hair and black garb, his skin marked by glowing lines that had been tattooed to his skin. At her right flank was the fourth person I had seen today that I recognized: the pirate Isabela, still adorned in gold, still testing the strength of the stitching on her too-small tunic, still devastatingly beautiful.

“Oh, I know you!” Isabela exclaimed. “Or, I think I do. I might have been drunk.”

“Is there no one of note you haven’t slept with?” the elf asked, but his voice held more admiration than derision. 

“No, I didn’t sleep with her,” Isabela corrected. “Or at least, I don’t think I did.”

“You didn’t,” I confirmed. “You gave me a bottle of rum, and then bedded two of my companions.”

“Yes, Zevran and Leliana!” she agreed. “How is Leliana? Have you heard from her?”

“Perhaps not now, darling,” the other woman suggested. “I don’t think the Warden-Commander is here for nostalgia.”

“You are only somewhat correct,” I said. “I assume you are Serah Hawke?”

“Just call me Hawke, everyone else does. Are you here about Bethany?” she asked, showing concern. “Has something happened to her?”

“Who’s Bethany?”

“My sister. She’s a Grey Warden, too. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I’m afraid I don’t know your sister. I primarily work in Ferelden and Orlais, and there are more of us than you would imagine.”

“That’s a relief,” she said, one hand on her heart. “In that case, what can I help you with?”

“I have an unusual request,” I started, then paused. It made me slightly uncomfortable to reveal my connection to the estate in front of an audience. I wished that Alistair had been a bit quicker meeting me here. I cleared my throat and continued. “I have recently learned that my family hails from Kirkwall, originally. Actually, from this house, if the intelligence I received is correct. Anyway, I’d like to dig through whatever was left when you moved in to see if I can learn any more information about them.”

“Oh?” Hawke said, her face a mask of confusion.  Then it lit up with understanding. “Oh! I always thought it was a coincidence! But it’s not!”

“What’s not?” I asked.

“You’re an Amell,” she said, as if that explained it.

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here, as I just explained.”

“No, I’m an Amell!” she added. “Well, I’m a Hawke, but I’m also an Amell. My mother was Leandra Amell. My uncle is Gamlen Amell. They grew up in this house. We’re related.”

It took a moment for the information to sink in, but once it did, I shared in her excitement. Finally, a relative that wasn’t dead, Tranquil, or locked in a Circle. She, too, was thrilled to find more family. Her mother had died a few years back, and with her sister off with the Wardens and her uncle mostly estranged, she was feeling the loneliness as much as I had been. 

She dragged me to the upper level of the library and showed off an entire bookcase full of family history. I grabbed a book at random, and we poured over it together, before moving onto another. At some point, the others faded into the background as we became immersed in our study, chattering excitedly over every scrap of information. It was like time was unfolding before me, giving me a history I had never known. I felt rooted in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to me, knowing that my blood stretched back generations.

It wasn’t until I heard Alistair’s voice at my back that I became aware of how much time we had spent enveloped in our research. The candles had been lit, as the windows displayed only darkness. I looked up into Alistair’s face as he loomed over my shoulder. I hadn’t even noticed his arrival.

“Is it a fascinating read?” he asked, peering at the writing.

“Four hundred years ago, we had an aunt that turned to piracy because her brother married the woman she loved!” Hawke shared. “She tried to ruin him financially. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Uh, if you say so,” Alistair shrugged. “I prefer loving a woman who loves me back.”

I smiled as he pressed a kiss to my forehead and leaned back into his chest. “We got a bit distracted. Hawke is actually my first cousin.”

“Yes, I gathered. Bodhan filled me in.  I wasn’t expecting to see him here,” Alistair mused.

“I’ve seen so many old acquaintances,” I told him, then bit my lip. I didn’t know what he would do when I told him about Cullen, and I debated keeping it to myself, but Alistair and I had always been honest with each other. “I met my brother in the Circle. I don’t think he’ll be able to leave, but Hawke agreed to keep an eye out for him. Also, Cullen was there. He’s a Knight-Captain now.”

“Oh,” Alistair remarked, then stood up, straightened his jacket, and addressed Hawke. “Champion, I assume you have weaponry in the house? I require your biggest, sharpest sword. I’m going to go stab someone with it.”

“You will not,” I commanded, then pointed to a chair. “Sit down, my love.”

Alistair frowned, but did as he was told. He immediately crossed his arms and began to pout.

“Not that I’d ever get in the way of someone interested in causing grief for Mr. Mages-Aren’t-People Rutherford, but I don’t know that it’s a good idea for a foreign king to be the one wielding the sword,” Hawke cautioned. “We just had a battle with an outside nation. I don’t think the city could handle another.”

“He’s not going to do anything,” I promised. “He’s all bluster, and he knows that I am fully capable of defending my own honor.”

“Does he also defend against impertinent flirtations from saucy sailors?” inquired Isabela, who had crept up on us and now leaned seductively against the banister. “Because I was hoping we could pick up where we left off. My threesome with Zevran and Leliana was delightful, but I can’t help thinking a fivesome would have been even more delectable.”

“Hawke?” I squeaked and looked at her for assistance. Alistair’s ears had turned pink, and I was certain he was too stunned to speak at the moment.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said, shrugging. “Isabela is allowed to bed whomever she likes, as long as she only sleeps with me.”

I turned to stare wide-eyed at the pirate, her shit-eating grin making my heart clench. I could only stammer in her direction.

“Come on, a hero  _ and _ a king? You can’t deny me the chance,” she pleaded. I turned my gaze to Alistair, who was staring pointedly at me.

“I…” Was I enticed by the idea of seeing what, exactly, Zevran had said Isabela was so good at? Yes. But I had never been with anyone except Alistair, and I wasn’t willing to do this without him. “Alistair?”

“Well, it’s a very charming offer,” he said, waving his hand around distractedly. 

“Great! I’ll get my boots,” she exclaimed, then bounded down the stairs. I turned back to Hawke.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I asked.

“I long ago learned that Isabela cannot be tied down,” Hawke smiled, explaining. “Up, yes, but never down. And I have other lovers, too, so we maintain a balance, and we respect each other enough to not make claims on the freedom of the other.”

“That’s a, uh. It’s an unusual arrangement,” Alistair commented.

“It works for us,” she stated simply. “But before you go, I have one more thing to show you that I think will be of interest.”

She got up from her perch on the table and crossed to a far bookshelf. From it, she pulled what appeared to be someone’s journal, then flipped it open to a later page.

“This is the journal of my grandfather, your great uncle,” she told me, then began to read. “It has come to my attention that these scandals were in part orchestrated by Chivalry Threnhold in an attempt to discourage the ability of our family to challenge his power and the power of his son, Perrin. Perrin as much as admitted it. What they did to Revka’s children is the worst of it, but knowing that Leandra, too, would be here if not for his meddling is what hurts my heart the most. Men who wield such power to break up families do not deserve their positions, and for as long as I can, I will oppose the Threnhold family as fervently as I can.”

“What did he do to Revka’s children?” I asked. “Does it say?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Hawke lamented. “I always assumed it was just making sure they were sent off to the Circle, but now I wonder if he wasn’t the mastermind behind your stolen memories. It makes sense. He was very powerful, and many called him a tyrant.”

“What happened to him?” Alistair asked, a dark look on his face.

“He died a long time ago,” she responded. “His son, Perrin, succeeded him, but tried to expel the Templars and ended up dead as well.”

I exhaled. It seemed like so much work to keep a few mage children away from their family. But I felt better knowing that mystery was concluded. I would write to Darina before I left Kirkwall and let her know what I had discovered, too. We could finally put it behind us, then pick up our lives where they were and move forward.

“Alistair, Solona, let’s go!” Isabela called from below. “I’m eager to board your ship.”

She convulsed into a fit of giggles, and Alistair gave me a half-hearted smile.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he told me.

“Do you want to?” I pressed.

“I, uh…” he trailed off. “I don’t want to get hit.”

“I’ll only hit you if you lie,” I promised.

“What can I say? I’m a weak, weak man. I want to.”

“I do, too,” I said. Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, and Hawke chuckled at our reluctance. “I mean, it could be fun. But only with you.”

“Oh, yes, I agree,” he said, rising to his feet and offering me his hand. “She could be fun, but it’s only fun if you’re having fun, too.”

“Will you two stop and just go do it already,” Hawke complained. “You’ll have a good time, and 50 years from now, you’ll be able to share the whole exciting story with your grandchildren at inappropriate times.”

Alistair chucked and led me down the stairs. In 50 years, he probably would share the story with our grandchildren at inappropriate times, but I wouldn’t be there to share it with him. I’d have succumbed to the taint long before then. All the more reason to share this adventure with him now.


	6. The Coming War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange arrival in Denerim brings to light many of the troubles brewing in Thedas.

I awoke as I often did, holding perfectly still as nightmares of darkspawn far in the Deep Roads faded from my memory and the real world slid back into focus. The sound of howling winds against glass replaced the howling of genlocks, and the smell of decay was replaced by the smell of early morning tea. I felt cozy tucked beneath heavy furs, but a little nip in the air chilled the tip of my nose. 

“I know you're awake. I can hear the change in your breathing,” came Alistair’s voice. I opened my eyes to see him leaning against the headboard, furs wrapped around his shoulders and a folio open on his lap. It was dark enough still in the room to require a lamp to read clearly, and Alistair had hung one from the length of cloth that draped from one poster of the bed to another. It was a precarious place to put such a thing, and I wondered how the lamp didn’t pull the cloth down with its weight.

“My morning meetings were canceled, thank the Maker. No one wants to trek through this blizzard. Least of all me,” he stated. I craned my head up to see over him toward the window. Everything beyond it was a dim white, and frost had formed on the corners where the sill met the panes.

“How early is it?” I asked. I seldom slept past dawn, but without the sun to wake me, I hadn’t a clue of the time.

“Mid-morning, I suppose. Though I haven’t seen anyone since Shianni sent me up tea. That was...what? An hour ago?”

“Lost in your reading?” I inquired, shifting to a sitting position and leaning against his shoulder. “Is it some sort of salacious novel?”

“Ha! I wish,” he chuckled. “It’s intelligence reports from Orlais. Apparently, there's going to be a civil war. But they're taking their bloody time getting to it. Can't just fight someone head-on, they've got to posture for a few years first. Isn't that fun?”

“And which side are we rooting for?” I knew little of the politics of Orlais, except that everything revolved around The Game, which Alistair was starting to understand, begrudgingly, but I was hopelessly lost in. Alistair made a face like I had offered him spoiled milk.

“They’re Orlesians,” he grimaced. “We hope they burn each other’s armies to the ground and spend all their coin in the effort. Then maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

“Okay, point taken,” I conceded. “But which side would it be worse of us if they won.”

“Hmm,” he mused, shuffling a few papers to review information. “Probably this Gaspard fellow. Nasty piece of work. Still has fantasies of reclaiming the lost province of Ferelden. The Empress isn't entirely terrible, for an Orlesian. Cailan liked her well enough.”

“Any other exciting information your spies brought you?” I asked. 

“Uh…” He pulled out a single sheaf and stared at it for a long moment before shoving it to the bottom of the stack. “Mostly just trade manifests. Full of useful information, but terribly boring.” 

“And the one on the bottom of the pile?” 

“What one?” I rolled my eyes at him, but he was avoiding my gaze. I reached for the pile, but he snapped the leather cover closed and set the whole thing aside. “I just realized I haven't kissed you good morning.” 

“Alistair,” I scolded. He ignored me and leaned over to kiss first one cheek, then the other. Increasing the annoyance in my tone, I said again, “Alistair.”

“My love,” he answered, but covered my lips with his own before I could speak again. I wanted to push him off me and dig out the information he hesitated to share, but I also wanted to melt into his kiss. He still had the bitter taste of his tea on his tongue, and I gave in and let him move between my legs. 

“I'll find out what you're hiding,” I let out in a husky breath as he moved his kisses down my neck. 

“Not...hiding...anything,” he protested, each word punctuated by a skin-tingling kiss from my collar bone to the depression between my breasts. I let him kiss himself lower, pulling up my shift to give him access to his true goal. 

Once he was sufficiently occupied between my thighs, I carefully stretched one arm toward the closed folio, the other hand clutched in his hair. My arms were just long enough that I could flip open the cover with my fingertips. Grasping the correct page, however, was a more daunting task, and it took me a couple of tries before I was able to pinch the lowest sheet between the very tips of my two middle fingers. When I pulled, the whole folio came with it and slipped onto the floor, pages scattering everywhere. Alistair's head snapped up to find me with my arm fully outstretched, a single paper dangling in the air, and what I'm sure must have been my most guilty expression. 

“And the maids give me grief for my mess,” he grumbled, looking over the edge of the bed at the chaos. “I'm going to tell everyone that you're the secretly messy one.”

I pulled the paper to me, and he sighed and settled himself with his head resting on my stomach. He made no move to stop me from reading the thing, and I briefly wondered if I had completely misread his behavior. Then, I read the report. 

Then I read it a second time. 

It wasn't a report, exactly. It was more of a letter, and from someone who was not used to disclosing information. And it was half in Antivan. From the half I could make out, I was entirely disbelieving. 

“I thought your father died,” I finally remarked. 

“That's the rumor,” he confirmed. “But lost at sea means just that: lost. Not necessarily dead.” 

“If King Marc is alive, where has he been? Where is he now?”

“I don't know,” he said. “But I intend to find out.” 

“So we're going to Antiva?” He looked up at me, surprise on his face. 

“You want to come with?” he asked skeptically. 

“Of course I'm coming with,” I reassured him, my fingers stroking his blond hair. “You helped me find my family. Why, in all of Thedas, would I not do the same for you?” 

Alistair sat up, his face full of hope, and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, as if to say something important, but instead, a knock sounded at the door. 

“Lady Elissa requests the company His Majesty King Alistair and Warden-Commander Amell,” came Viveka's even, calm voice. Both Alistair and I scrambled for our robes before our little girl lost patience and pushed her way inside. 

I spent the next few hours relaxing in the company of my family. It was rare that we had such an opportunity. A day without duties was uncommon for Alistair, and as the Grey Warden forces grew, so too did my responsibilities with them. To sit and relax in front of the fire with my love and my daughter and my sister was a rare pleasure. 

Viveka had taken over much of the governess duties for Elissa almost as soon as she arrived in Denerim. Being Tranquil meant she was the one person Elissa couldn't emotionally manipulate, and she was unwavering loyal, so I never worried about the child's safety. As Elissa was reaching the age where magic would begin to manifest, Viveka also served as the perfect monitor. She knew what to look for and would respond with discretion. I felt it was inevitable that Elissa would become a mage, considering the potency of magic in Amell blood. When it happened, we would need to find a proper tutor. Neither Alistair nor I wanted her to end up like Connor, but we were not willing to send her to the Circle. Not ever. We would vanish into the Korcari Wilds before I let the Templars take her, and Alistair agreed completely. 

But for now, she was an energetic six-year-old that delighted in practical jokes, dramatic storytelling, and using little stone figurines to wage war against her father's toy army. She had just launched a full-frontal assault on Alistair's onyx demon company when a guardsman appeared, out of breath. 

“Pardon, your majesty,” he puffed, bowing frantically. “We've just had word from the docks. There's a ship come in, and it's… ah, it's a bit of a situation.”

“Someone sailed their ship into a frozen harbor during a blizzard?” Alistair asked, dumbfounded. “Are they crazy or stupid? Or both?”

“I'm afraid I don't know,” he answered, looking uncomfortable. “The messenger was half-coated in ice. He just said that the captain asked specifically to speak with you and the Warden-Commander.” 

“They asked for me by name?” I looked at Alistair, his face a reflection of the concern I felt. “Who is it?” 

“I don't know, Warden-Commander,” the guardsman admitted. “But I think it's from the Free Marches. Maybe Kirkwall.” 

I met Alistair's eyes for only a second, to confirm we were both in understanding, then lept into action as he ordered, “Whoever is on that ship needs to be brought straight here, no customs stop, no inspection, I don't care if they've got papers. Get them safely here.”

I was already half-dressed when the guard ran from the room. Alistair didn't waste time following my lead, and Viveka calmly led Elissa to the library, critiquing the girl's military strategy. 

“Kirkwall, Solona,” Alistair said, his long strides still struggling to match my quick ones as we strode down the corridor, everyone ducking out of our way when they saw us. 

“I know,” I replied. 

“It could be Hawke.” 

“Yes.” 

“It could be your brother.” 

“Yes.” 

“It might not be.” 

I clenched my teeth. Not long after returning from meeting Galen for the first time, I devised an ingenious method of communication. On the back of a simple Andrastrian amulet, I weaved a spell that turned the amulet into a tiny portal when touched by someone of Amell blood. To anyone else, it was just jewelry. Hawke smuggled it into the Circle for me, and once a week, every week since, Galen and I had talked. Except two weeks ago we didn't. I waited and waited, but my amulet never transformed. 

Since then, I had carried it with me everywhere, just in case he tried to call. He hadn't. Alistair had tried to assure me that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his silence, but I wasn't fooled. I read his intelligence reports over his shoulder. I knew the unrest that had increased in that city. I knew the blood that was being shed in the streets. Mage blood. Galen had little protection, even with Hawke in the city. Anything could have happened to him, and with the frigid winter, the coldest yet of the age, no news had reached us in that time. 

And now a ship had appeared in a blizzard, hailing from Kirkwall. I knew it was connected to Galen's silence. It had to be. 

By the time we reached the main hall, there was enough bustle that I knew the whole staff was as alarmed as Alistair and I. Then our guests stumbled in through the front door. 

“Have you any idea how difficult it is to steer a ship past ice flows without ripping a hole in the hull? She is not an icebreaker! I deserve some sort of award for that feat.” Isabela was wearing more clothes than I had ever seen on her. Actual trousers were tucked into her boots, and her fur-lined coat was cinched tight enough that only the skin of her neck showed above it. By contrast, the dwarf next to her was in far more revealing garb. His jacket showed a vast swath of chest hair, now frosted white with ice. 

“Isn't not sinking its own reward?” he pointed out, then turned to us and bowed. “Varric Tethras, at your service.”

I didn't acknowledge him. My eyes were on the third figure, an olive-skinned young man in the robes of a mage. 

“Galen!” I exclaimed and threw myself into his arms. He clutched me tight to him, the whole of his being still a few degrees too close to ice. 

“I'm sorry I didn't call, I didn't have time to grab the amulet once the Annulment began,” he mumbled into my hair. 

“Annulment?” I asked, pulling back just enough to search his face for signs of harm. 

“Knight-Commander Meredith ordered the Rite of Annulment after the Chantry exploded,” he explained. 

“I'm sorry, did you say the Chantry exploded?” Alistair gaped. 

“It didn't just explode,” Isabela grumbled. “It was blown up by a mage.”

“By an apostate,” Varric corrected. 

“By Anders,” she clarified further. 

“Our Anders?” I asked, frowning. He had always hated the Circle, but I didn't know him to be a terrorist. 

“You can claim him if you wish, but I wash my hands of him,” Isabela remarked, shaking her hands in front of her as if her association with him would roll off like water droplets. 

“Hold on,” Alistair interjected. “How did that lead to the slaughter of the Circle?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Galen responded. “One mage does something stupid, we all must pay.”

His eyes were dark and angry, and Varric and Isabela looked away. It seemed to me that they knew well his thoughts on the matter. It made me want to rage that anyone would attempt to harm my brother, let alone any innocent mage. They had all been locked in a prison, and one unscrupulous action by an outsider led them to the slaughter. I fought the urge to curse Anders from afar and instead hugged Galen tightly again. 

It was quickly agreed that the three of them would stay at the palace.  Isabela wanted to get back to her ship, but the continued blizzard dissuaded her enough. By the time it broke and the sun once again shone, we all had a better picture of what was happening with the Circles of Magi. It didn’t look good.

Word of what had happened in Kirkwall spread quickly.  No one was excusing Anders’ action, and it was almost universally condemned. However, the decision to respond by Annulment was unacceptable in the eyes of the Circle. If the Kirkwall mages could be held responsible for the actions of an apostate, what faith did any mage have that they were safe from undue retribution? The Templar order responded by doubling down on their actions.  There were plenty of whispers that Knight-Commander Meredith had gone mad, but no one in the Chantry was willing to admit it and publicly supported her actions. Tensions rose, and the call went out for the College of Enchanters to gather in Cumberland that spring to deal with the issue.

“The Libertarians are going to call for a vote to secede from the Chantry,” Galen predicted. “It’s going to end in war.”

We were walking slowly through the library of the Palace, trailing just behind Viveka and Elissa, who was reciting the line of Theirin rulers. The past few weeks had found us often observing her studies and discussing the conflict in hushed tones. She was seven, now, and learning faster than anticipated.  It helped that she loved to learn and show off her knowledge. When Alistair had set sail for Antiva with Isabela and Varric only a few days before, she demanded he bring back a volume on Antivan history, so she could learn that, too. I had only demanded that he bring back himself.

“There are too many Loyalists,” I argued. “It will never pass.”

“It doesn’t matter if it passes,” Galen countered. “It only matters that they vote. The Chantry will see it as a rebellion, and all mages will suffer for it.”

He made his comments without anger in his voice. Sometimes his tone of voice was as flat as Viveka’s, and I marveled at his self-control. I was plagued by fear and rage in equal parts, and it was only by channeling my emotions into my magic that I was able to keep my composure. Even now, I cast a dozen protective wards over Elissa and Viveka, even though it was largely unnecessary, protected as we were in the palace.

“If war breaks out, Thedas will suffer for it,” Galen continued. “There won’t be any frontlines. It will be pockets of mages hiding where they can, fighting where they must. And the Templars will hunt them down no matter where they are.”

“We don’t know it will come to that,” I protested, but I only half-believed my words.

“You must prepare as if it will,” he advised.

“How? I only have the power of conscription at my disposal, and if I abuse it, I face consequences both from the Bannorn and from my superiors.”

“There is no one who is your superior,” he scoffed. I let out a little laugh in response. “I’m serious. You’ve got a sterling reputation, the power of a royal alliance, an unbesmirched title as Hero of Ferelden, and magical capabilities that defy understanding. If you conscripted all mages, who would stop you?”

“If only it were that simple,” I sighed. “Alas, the life of a Grey Warden is that of sacrifice.  I will not foist it upon anyone who has another option.” 

“What other options are there?”

I thought. Of course, I would initiate any mage that wished to join my order, but I did not offer that option readily.  So many died in the Joining, and it was unfair to cut short the lives of those who would otherwise live to old age. 

The other option was the Circle at Lake Calenhad. Kinloch Hold was more autonomous than most Circles, thanks in large part to Alistair’s cowing of the Templars stationed there.  I wondered if he’d use his powers to expel them altogether. That would give at least one Circle free from Chantry control, but it would also be a dangerous political move for him and place him in direct opposition to the Divine. I had spent so much time trying to dissuade him from going to war with the Chantry.  Would I now have to eat my words?

Of course, there were places in Ferelden where apostates could live, if not freely, then with far less risk.  The Knight-Commander at Redcliffe, for example, was allied with the Mage’s Collective, and made a habit of turning a blind eye to the apostolic members of their organization.  Since they had a reputation for policing themselves, it was a fairly safe arrangement. I could ask Alistair to organize for Redcliffe to be designated an unofficial sanctuary. Or, since Alistair was gone…

“I may have a solution, actually.  I just need to speak with Teagan.”

Galen raised his eyebrow and opened his mouth to question me, but was cut off by a cry of frustration.

“I don’t  _ like _ poetry!” Elissa growled and stamped her foot, her face screwed up in defiant anger. The book in Viveka’s hand burst into flames.  She calmly placed in on the stone floor and turned back to my child.

“Lady Elissa, please do not damage the literature,” she entreated, her voice even and emotionless. “I will have to report this outburst to the King. Please extinguish the flames, now.”

Elissa stomped her foot again but did as she was told.  I struggled to breathe.

“Did you know?” Galen asked in a hushed voice. I shook my head.  “What will you do?”

“I’m not sure,” I whispered back. It was what I had feared would happen. Now, more than ever, it was important to protect her from the Templars. I turned to Galen.  “Any chance you’d like to be a teacher?”


	7. Tainted Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona wakes one morning to find her entire existence is about to end, but she's not dead yet, and she'll do whatever she can to find a way back home.

The smell of brimstone filled my nose and I struggled forward, grabbing for purchase among the loose stones. I had to move forward. I had to get closer. Closer. I was cold and sweating, but I could not stop. A desire pulled me forward, deeper and deeper into the darkness. A hunger. A yearning. I did not notice the seething mass of bodies around me. I must do as I was bidden. I must descend and find my master. I must do as my master commands. I must. I must.

I awoke to shaking and someone calling my name. The world snapped into sharp focus, but my nightmare didn’t fade away. When I opened my eyes, I saw Alistair peering down at me instead of a mass of darkspawn in the Deep Roads, but I could still feel them there. I could almost pinpoint their location. 

“My love, are you alright?” Alistair asked. It had been a while since he had had to shake me awake from a nightmare. “You were growling in your sleep.”

“Growling? Not screaming?”

“Growling. Like Barkspawn,” he confirmed. “Have your nightmares returned?”

The crease between his eyebrows deepened in concern, and I noticed now that he had lines on his face, etched into the skin at the corners of his eyes. He was still handsome and young, just turned thirty, but the stress of being king was beginning to make itself known. I wondered if he could see the passing years in my eyes as well.

“I’m fine,” I told him, smiling. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair, pushing back the loch that had fallen across his forehead. He closed his eyes and leaned into the gesture, the worry fading from his face. I let my nails scrape against the skin on the back of his neck, and he let a small groan of pleasure resonate in his throat.

“If you’re going to do that, I’m going to keep you in bed all morning,” he warned. I laughed.

“How quickly you fall into my trap,” I chastised him. 

He opened his eyes and narrowed them at me, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. He grabbed the blankets covering us and threw them off, pulling out of my grasp.  Neither of us had bothered to wear anything to bed the night before, and I shivered as my skin was exposed to the cool morning air.

“I see no trap,” he concluded. “No ambush. Though I do see some sort of bush.”

I giggled and rolled to my stomach.  “Now you see nothing.”

“I see quite a bit of something,” he countered, one hand squeezing the flesh of my backside in emphasis.  I began to rise, but he pushed me down, straddled my legs, and gathered both of my wrists into one hand above my head. “Now, look who’s trapped.”

“How long do you intend to keep me here?” I asked.

“You’ve been gone two months to Vigil’s Keep,” he reminded me, running his free hand down my back. “I will keep you as long as I see fit. I am the king, you know.”

Alistair’s hand wandered over the rounded flesh of my buttocks and dipped down into the space between my legs. I clamped my thighs together, effectively trapping his hand only an inch or so from its target. 

“What will you do now?” I asked him as he struggled to pull free. Once he had yanked it out of the vice I had created, he spanked me playfully.

“Are you going to be this troublesome all morning?” he demanded.  I smiled back at him, biting my lower lip. He responded by spanking me a second time, this time a little harder. I gasped at the sting of it, then raised my hips to taunt him. He responded with a third strike.

“If you think this is punishment, you’re mistaken,” I moaned. He stretched out to lay against me, chest to back, and let the bulk of his weight fall against me as he nuzzled into my neck.

“If I wanted to punish you, I’d leave you all by yourself for the morning,” he said, grinding his erection into the cleft between my lower cheeks. I felt my sex grow wet and wanton. His hot breath on my skin made me shiver, and I struggled to draw in a full breath.

“That would be a punishment for you, as well,” I panted. 

“Which is why I’m keeping you here, instead, and finding pleasure from you one way or another.” His hips rocked against me, the firmness of his member sliding along my skin, back and forth.  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“Oh, I like it when you’re hard,” I teased.

“As you wish,” he growled. He leaned off of me for a moment, snatching something off the floor. It was just enough time for me to catch my breath before he was back on top of me, winding the silk sash of my own robe around my wrists, then attaching it to one of the bed posters. It wasn’t tight, and it wasn’t tied well, but I liked the effort. 

A growl reverberated from my chest as he ran his fingernails along my spine. Soft, warm lips followed the trails left behind, electric sparks tingling along my skin as he worked his way to my lower back. At the swell of my butt, Alistair let his teeth scrape against me, catching the flesh in a gentle nip.

“Are you going to tease me all morning?” I taunted him, wiggling my hips back and forth to tease him. A spike of real pain shot through me as he sunk his teeth in my skin. I gasped and arched my back.

“Too much?” he asked.

“More,” I panted. The pain had soared through me like a spike of clarity, cutting through the lingering haze of the Calling. For a second, I felt only him and myself, not the seething mass of darkspawn troops that called to me. I wanted to feel it again.

Alistair bit me again, then again, working his way back up toward my neck. When he reached my shoulder, he reached down and rubbed his erection against the well-lubricated slit between my legs. The pain from his teeth on my shoulder mixed with the pleasure of his teasing below, the dual sensations swirling within me to push out any sense of the world that existed beyond this room, this bed, this man. I moved my hips against him, and he slipped inside. After all this time with him, the fullness of having him move within me was still deliciously overwhelming, an unbearable pleasure that I could not get enough of.

“Please don’t be gentle,” I begged him. He responded with quick, firm thrusts, his hips slapping against my backside. One hand braced against the mattress while the other snuck under me, seeking out the nub of pleasure hidden in the fur between my legs. He rubbed and pinched it as he drove into me from behind, the power of his hips sending the entire bed crashing against the wall in an ever-increasing tempo. The percussion mixed with my own cries of pain and pleasure. 

“I can’t hold on much longer,” he panted.

“Then don’t.” 

His hips moved like a battering ram against me, and we broke through the final wave of ecstasy together. 

After the last spasms of pleasure faded away and Alistair untied me, I was once again consumed by desire, but this time of a darker sort. It was a pull from the depths of my heart, as if my very blood was singing out in intense longing. It felt almost like a hunger, but a hunger of a perverse kind, like blood lust. And it came with an incessant whisper, unintelligible in language, but still, I knew what it meant.

_ Come _ , it said. _ Join us. Descend _ .

I said nothing to Alistair. I let him rise and begin his day, smiling as he left the royal chambers. He had changed after his trip to Antiva.  Meeting his father and then watching him die had taken its toll on his heart, but somehow he had returned more centered, more focused. Whatever had transpired between them had left him resolute in his dedication to the throne. Even his advisors had been speaking of the wisdom he had shown in the past year.  He was coming into his own as king, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. With Orlais in a civil war and rogue Templars hunting mages across the countryside, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by my change in condition.

I left a hastily scrawled note on his private desk, packed some supplies, and left the palace, Barkspawn in tow.  I didn’t even stop to say goodbye to Elissa, Viveka, or Galen. It should have tugged on my heart to leave so silently, but instead, I felt nothing.  Perhaps that is what scared me the most; I felt so little except for the desire to dig below the surface and seek out an archdemon. Barkspawn, too, was restless, and more than once I caught him digging frantically before I could draw his attention away.

I headed for Vigil’s Keep.  If this was the end for me, the other Grey Wardens would know what to do.  By the time I arrived, however, the place was in chaos. Sigrun greeted me at the gate, like she had known I would come, then filled me in.

“Velana just woke up a few days ago and said she wasn’t going to wait,” the dwarf told me.  “She headed for the Winding Woods, and I expect she’ll go to the Deep Roads from there. Nathaniel set out for Weishaupt already.  He wasn’t going to wait for instructions.”

“Who else has heard it?” I asked her, hoping the list ended with the four of us.

“Everyone,” she replied. I stopped to stare at her.

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s even the new recruits,” she explained.  “Wardens who’ve only just survived the Joining are hearing it as clear as some of the veterans from Orlais. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve had the taint, everyone is hearing the Calling.”

I felt the fear boil up inside me, almost displacing the longing of the call.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The Calling wasn’t supposed to start this soon. Ten to thirty years, I had always heard. It had only been nine.  Something was very wrong.

We only had to wait a week or so for official word to arrive, recalling every last one of us to Weishaupt.  We packed quickly and left Vigil's Keep deserted, heading for Amaranthine, where we would sail to Val Chevin and then travel the highway north to Weishaupt. I barely had the sense of mind to write to Alistair, but I didn’t know what to write.  If he thought I wasn’t coming back, he’d come after me. It wasn’t fair, and it was probably cruel, but in the end, I only wrote three words. _ Gone to Anderfels _ . 

The days after that passed in a blur. Once again, I was on a ship, sailing towards an uncertain future. Sigrun walked with me along the deck, cheerfully listing all the ways we could die before the taint took us.  Most of our group had settled into a heavy silence, myself included, and Sigrun’s was usually the only voice that carried over the sea, aside from the sailors. “I’ve been dead for years already,” she said when I asked her why she wasn’t more worried about the Calling. “At this point, it’s a little ridiculous I’m still walking around and talking. Anything else just adds to the surrealness of it.”

“There’s no one you’ll miss?” I asked her, thinking of my sisters and Galen, of little Elissa, of sweet Alistair.

“How am I going to miss someone?” she snorted. “I’m dead, remember? The dead don’t feel things.”

“But don’t you feel afraid that you’ll lose that connection? The ties of love and friendship that make us feel like we belong in this world?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “I cut all my ties ten years ago when I joined the Legion.  I cut them again when I became a Grey Warden. If I go crazy and join the darkspawn, I hope someone kills me, but I don’t think I’ll notice the change. That’s the thing about changes like that. Worrying about them beforehand is a waste of energy because you won’t even notice after.”

I looked over the railing of the ship and estimated how deep the water was.  A voice in the back of my mind tried to tell me that if I jumped, I could make it to the bottom before I drowned. The logical part of my brain reminded me that just meant I’d drown while digging instead. I shoved the temptation down and focused on a memory of Alistair, one from years back when we had slain Flemeth, Morrigan’s mother, together.  He had pulled his bloody sword out of her neck and in heaving breaths asked me to remind him never to do another favor for Morrigan as long as he lived.

“You miss your family already?” Sigrun asked.

“Yes,” I responded. “But I don’t want to stop missing them.  If I do…”

“It’ll mean you’re too far gone,” she finished. She was right.  Thinking of Alistair at all was becoming a chore, and I often had to remind myself to remember him. More than once I had awoken and completely forgotten about him until I looked at my hand, where I still wore his ring.  More and more, the hunger and need that came with this vile sickness were blocking him out.

“Too bad the king’s cure isn’t viral,” Sigrun sighed. I snapped my head to look at her.

“What did you say?” I demanded, my voice low. The wheels in my brain were turning, I just needed to catch up with them.

“The king,” she repeated. “He used to be a Grey Warden, didn’t he? And now he’s not. Sure wish we knew how that had happened. Then this wouldn’t matter, because we’d all just take the cure.”

I knew. I had done it. It was a manifestation of great magic, made possible only because of the tainted battle that had surrounded us. I had tried to recreate it, but I couldn’t even get close to the required amount of magic, even with lyrium. I had even looked into blood magic, but that had been a dead-end too. 

Then I remembered something Alistair had said to me about another Grey Warden being cured of the taint some 30 years earlier.  And then there was some other acolyte who had experimented his way to a cure, but his notes had never been reproducible. Three instances of a cure.  It wasn’t impossible. If anyone could figure it out, I could. And since I was headed to Weishaupt anyway, I could scour the annals for whatever research I could find. 

“I think I see Val Chevin on the horizon,” Sigrun observed, pointing to a barely visible port along the ribbon of coast that outlined the horizon.  “Should we rally the troops?”

I nodded, then rallied myself.  For the first time since I had felt the Calling begin, I didn’t feel torn between wanting to burrow into the earth and wanting to return to Alistair’s bed.  I had a mission: to find the cure, or die trying.


	8. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona's journey to Weishaupt is interrupted by someone she never expected to see again. As a result, she agrees to a bargain that permanently changes her course.

“I saw madness in her eyes. Whatever she has planned, it cannot be in service to the Order. She must be stopped.” Stroud stared at me intently, a mug of ale in front of him long since forgotten. 

“I believe you, but I cannot give up this mission,” I told him. 

Most of the Ferelden Wardens had already left Val Chevin for Weishaupt. Most of the Orlesian Wardens had not, and instead followed the orders of Clarel, the Warden-Commander of Orlais. If Stroud was correct, she was putting into motion a terrible plan that could jeopardize everyone. I sympathized, but I could not give up so quickly on finding a cure.

“I cannot deny I was hoping for your help,” he sighed, slumping against his chair in resignation. “But of course, finding a cure would help us all. It is a noble mission.”

“What cure can you discover that no one else has?” Bethany asked. She was the only companion that had arrived with Stroud, and my young cousin was the last of my uncovered family for me to meet. She looked a bit like Hawke, but with a fairer complexion and more delicate features.

“I know how Alistair was cured,” I explained. “I just haven’t been able to reproduce it. I don’t have enough magic. And there have been two other cases in the recent past. I have to believe the answer is within reach.”

“If the answer was at Weishaupt, we would already know it,” she argued, then looked at Stroud for confirmation. “Wouldn’t we?”

“It does seem unlikely,” he agreed.

I sipped the ale from mug to cover my frustration. I didn’t have time to waste traveling to the Anderfels if it was a dead-end, but I didn’t have any other leads.

“Not to be one to question authority,” Sigrun cut in. “But do the hotshots at Weishaupt even know what they’re looking for?”

We all turned to look at the tattooed dwarf. She had insisted on staying behind with Barkspawn and me while I arranged for the travel of everyone else. It was her that had noticed Stroud and insisted I talk to him. I’d be a fool not to listen to her now.

“I mean, this is magic, right? So anyone who isn’t a mage and hasn’t studied magic is going to be hopelessly lost,” she continued. “And then, of the three instances where the taint has been cured, one of them was only ten years ago, and another was just 30 years ago. That’s like, yesterday, if we’re looking at the big picture. Not exactly a lot of time for anyone to have done a thorough inventory of all the research that’s been amassed concerning the cure and cross-referencing it with the details of these three cases. Plus, no offense to anyone else, but the Warden-Commander here is probably smarter than the rest of them.”

Bethany snorted, and even Stroud smirked at Sigrun’s boast of my intelligence.

“Then it would seem your course is set,” he concluded, nodding at me. “Good luck to you.”

“Good luck to you, Stroud,” I replied. 

Sigrun and I rose from the table and left the pub. We weren’t quite half-way to our accommodations before Bethany had caught up with us. 

“I want to come with you,” she said, skidding to a halt in front of us.

“You aren’t going to help Stroud?” I asked. She looked back the way she had come, guilt clouding her features.

“What Stroud is doing is important,” she admitted, then shook her head. “This isn’t about that, though. Finding a cure could change the course of history. And I… Look, I never wanted to be a Warden. It was something that was chosen for me, and if I could go back… If I could be just a normal girl, a normal mage…”

“What’s so great about being normal?” Sigrun scoffed. Bethany’s face darkened.

“I’ve lost so much,” Bethany snapped. “My father, my brother, my mother. My sister isn’t dead, but I hardly ever see her anyway. That might not mean anything to you, but it means something to me.”

“Okay, jeez, I get it.” Sigrun lifted her hands defensively. 

“I understand, Bethany,” I said gently. I felt the same. If I could promise Alistair another 50 years, to live to see Elissa happy and grown, and actually be around to watch as she grew, to give Darina back the years she lost when she took the Joining… wasn’t that why I was doing this?

“We are family,” Bethany said, her voice quiet and pleading. “Please, let me come. I can help.” 

I nodded, and she relaxed into a smile.

“I guess a party can never have too many mages,” Sigrun said, shrugging. 

We set out a few days later. The road north was eerily quiet, with too few merchants and travelers. After a few days, we began making camp during the day and traveling by night. Neither Sigrun nor Bethany questioned me about the choice, not that I could have explained my reasoning if they had.  Even Barkspawn seemed unnerved by the quiet, and I often caught him staring into the distance, stock-still and shaking.

We reached Perendale, on the edge of the Blasted Hills, before we encountered any real trouble. A small tavern on the outskirts of the town had seemed a quiet enough place that we could rest and replenish out supplies before making the final trek north. The patrons were few, all suspiciously well-armed and unnervingly quiet. I paid for a room, but sent Sigrun and Bethany to find a market, Barkspawn at their heels. Then I manifested an arcane sword and sat on the cheap cot facing the door and waited.

Less than an hour passed before I saw the shadows of a body under the gap between the door and the floorboards. As the metallic clinking of a lockpick sounded, I readied myself, raising the sword and gathering a ball of ice into my free hand. The door creaked open, and as soon as I saw a head peek through, I unleashed the ball of ice on the unwary intruder. Kicking open the door wide, I looked for any additional thugs, and seeing one, sliced my blade through the air until it came to rest a hair’s breadth from the throat of the wide-eyed man. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to knock before breaking into a room?” I asked. The first man clawed at his face, blocks of ice filling his mouth and nose, cutting off his breathing. The second man darted his eyes between me and his companion.

“Please, serah, he can’t breath,” the second man complained.

“I know. I’m the reason he can’t breathe,” I reminded them.

“We didn’t mean no harm, we was just looking for some gold or something like that, something to sell,” he explained, his voice growing more frantic as his friend sank to his knees.

“In the future, you’ll want to keep your thieving to wealthy merchants and foolish nobles, not Warden acolytes.” I stepped back from the two men, and with a wave of my hand, dissipated the ice from the first man’s face. He sucked in a breath and leaned against the door frame. His friend squatted next to him, rubbing his shoulder in comfort. 

“We didn’t know you was a Warden,” he said. 

“I find it hard to believe you cannot recognize the blue uniforms, considering this town lies along the road to Weishaupt,” I scoffed.

“No, we recognized them, it’s just, we were told-” he cut off when his friend emphatically elbowed him in the gut. 

“You were told what?” I demanded, my curiosity peaked. The two men exchanged glances. When it looked like they were going to keep quiet, I resorted to threats. “I can always bring back the ice.”

“We was told to keep a lookout for someone dressed as a Warden. They didn’t say an actual Warden, though. They said you had something valuable that they wanted, and we was to say so when you turned up.”

“And you thought you’d break in and find the valuable thing and turn it for a profit, instead, is that it?” I asked. The men looked sheepish, and one rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t really want to go find them again,” he said.

“Yeah, they were scary,” his friend agreed.

“Who was this?” I demanded. “Did they give you a name? What did they look like?”

“Sorry, serah, but you’ll think we’re daft if we tell you.”

“I already think you’re daft. But I can be scary too, and it won’t be so easy to get away from me.”  
“It was a dragon,” one blurted out.

“A dragon?” I repeated. “A dragon asked you, verbally, to watch for me?”

“See? I said you would think us daft.”

“We’re not the only ones who’ve seen it,” the other man chimed in. “The roads south are empty ‘cuz of this dragon. Everyone’s on edge. Waiting for it to attack.”

“You’re telling me a dragon, instead of burning you alive and eating you, asked you to play lookout?” I clarified. It was ridiculous. I had seen dragons. They didn’t talk. They ate humans and livestock indiscriminately. Still, it didn’t seem like these two were lying. Whatever it was, they thought it was a dragon. I’d just need to figure it out for myself. “Alright, boys. I’ll let you live and let you go, but in return, you’re going to show me this dragon.”

I left a note for Sigrun and Bethany, then prodded the two men out of the tavern and into the mountainside on the edge of the town. The father away from town we got, the jumpier and more anxious my two guides became. When we caught sight of the glowing embers of a fire, their panic was near tangible. But the fire was not that of a hideous and terrifying dragon, but rather of a campfire with a solitary man sitting in front of it. Though he was slouched, I could tell he was tall and powerful looking. Instead of armor, he wore the kind of riding jacket common among Ferelden nobles on a foxhunt, and the golden hair that caught the light of the flames reminded me of someone.

I motioned for my two companions to stay put, which they eagerly agreed to, and crept up behind him. When I was only a foot or so away, I manifested another arcane sword and let the blade rest against the exposed flesh of his neck. He stiffened, but he didn’t make any sudden movements, which indicated he was not inexperienced in being held at knife-point.

“I was told there was a dragon looking for me, but you’re not a dragon. You’re just a man,” I said. “Care to shed any light on this confusion?”

“He might be just a man, but I most certainly am a dragon, if I choose to be.” The voice that spoke came from the treeline, just past the glow of the fire. I couldn’t see who had spoken, but I would never forget that voice.

“Flemeth.”

“We meet again, Warden-Commander,” she greeted, stepping out of the trees and into view. She was not in her dragon aspect, but she looked terrifying nonetheless. The frail form in which I had first met her had morphed into a body that looked at once both ancient and indomitable, much like a mountain.

“I thought I killed you,” I said.

“Yes, I remember,” she agreed, smiling at me as if I had said something clever. 

“Were you resurrected, or was the death itself a fein?” 

“Does it matter, truly? I am here before you, either way. How a thing happens matters little, so long as it happens nonetheless,” she explained.

“Why were you looking for me?” I demanded.

“Ah, and now we get to the heart of the matter,” she strode to the campfire and perched on an overturned log, then warmed her fingers against the flames. “Why don’t you sit, make yourself comfortable? Or at least sheath your magic. I doubt that is a throat you truly want to cut.”

I looked down at the man in front of me and pulled my blade away. He slowly turned toward me and looked up, meeting my gaze. His warm amber eyes were filled with a thousand emotions, and when I recognized them, I was ashamed I had forgotten them in the first place.

“Alistair,” I breathed. My blade disappeared and I sank to my knees beside him. He reached for me and pulled my forehead to his. I clung to him and tried to blink back hot tears as a surge of happiness flooded me. “Why are you here?”

“Flemeth brought me,” he answered in a quiet, heavy tone. 

“Why?”

“Why, indeed,” she echoed, watching us with interest. I pulled my head back from Alistair, but did not let go of him, and watched Flemeth as she began to speak. 

“Many years ago, I entrusted my daughter to your care, knowing full well the sacrifice you would be asked to make in slaying the archdemon. I had prepared her for the event for many years, and she played her part as was expected. You, Solona Amell, did not. Perhaps it was my own arrogance to not foresee the extent of your power or the love you share with your faithful Alistair, or maybe I’m simply less competent in my advanced years.” She threw her head back and laughed a deep throaty chuckle, as if she had told the funniest joke in all of Thedas. “Either way, I did not plan for your interference.”

“Elissa,” Alistair whispered. Our daughter. Born with the soul of an old god.

“Yes, indeed,” Flemeth confirmed. “It’s always been quite humorous to me that in all the years in which the Blights have ravaged the land, no one ever used a fertility spell, not even coincidentally.”

“What do you mean, a fertility spell?” I demanded.

“I mean exactly what I say, girl. It was not even one I, myself, composed. The Avvar came up with it. It is powerful, to be sure, but not so out of the ordinary. Any child beget by a Grey Warden would have captured the soul of the old god. The trick is getting a child, hence the fertility spell.”

“But Morrigan’s ritual… it was dark magic!” Alistair protested.

“No, dear boy, it was not,” she answered. “It was one of the oldest magicks known to man, and one that is still happily practiced even in those places most hostile to magic of any sort.” 

“You wanted the soul,” I concluded, my mind putting together the pieces. “That’s why we’re here now. You’ve come to collect what you always wanted.”

“There’s a reason they put you in charge.” Flemeth rose and walked toward us. “If the soul had passed into Alistair’s son, I would still have some time. But events are being set in motion that necessitate my actions now. I must have it, and I must have it before you set sail.”

“Set sail? I’m going to Weishaupt. I’m not sailing,” I argued.

“Now we get to the bargain.” Flemeth’s lips curled up in a smile, her white teeth flashing like a wolf’s snarl. “You have something I want, and I am willing to give you what you want in return.”

“You can’t have our daughter,” Alistair spat. “I’ve killed you once, and I won’t hesitate to do it a second time.”

“You foolish boy,” Flemeth laughed. “You have only ever done what I have allowed you to do. Besides, I do not seek your daughter. Only that which is inside her. She will not miss it, once it is gone. She won’t even notice.”

“She won’t be harmed?” I asked.

“Not even a pinch.”

I looked at Alistair. This was what we had wanted from the very beginning. Years before, I had tracked down Morrigan thinking she could give it to us, and now Flemeth was offering it free of charge. It was too easy.

“What’s the catch?” 

“The catch is you must both agree. She is too young to consent on her own terms, and since you both claim her as your own, you must both agree to this.” I looked at Alistair again, and the hesitation in his face mirrored my own feelings. Flemeth saw our doubts, and offered an incentive. “If you agree to grant me the soul of the old god, I will give you what you seek as well.”

“We don’t seek anything,” Alistair said, frowning first at Flemeth, then at me. “Do we?”

“She has not even told you of her quest?” Flemeth remarked. “Why do you think she left you and Ferleden so abruptly? Did you think she had just grown tired of you?”

“Well, I… I thought..” Alistair trailed off, a blush blooming on his cheeks.

“You thought I had grown tired of you?” I repeated, staring wide-eyed at him.

“You barely even left a note,” he complained. “What else was I supposed to think? You used to tell me everything, but then you just left. You didn’t even say goodbye. Not to me, not to Viveka or Galen, not even to Elissa.”

“Yes, exactly. If I had just left you, wouldn’t I have said goodbye to the rest?” I pointed out.

“Then why did you leave?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.  I clenched my teeth, every cell in my body begging me not to tell him, to spare him the fear of knowing what path lay before me.

“If you cannot speak it out loud, I have no such inhibitions,” Flemeth offered. I glared at her, then took a deep breath.

“I’m on a quest to find a cure for the Calling,” I said. 

“That’s not so bad. That’s actually good, isn’t it?” he mused. “But why not tell me? And why leave so suddenly?”

“I don’t have much time left,” I said gently, reaching over to run my fingers through his hair one more time. I didn’t know when I’d be able to do so again. If I’d be able to do so again.

“You’ve got at least another year before you have to start worrying about that,” he said. “If we’re lucky, and we often are, you might still have twenty.”

“No,” I disagreed, shaking my head sadly. “I have no more time. I must do this now.”

“Why? You’re not…” Alistair looked at me, his brow wrinkled in confusion, then horror as he began to understand. “You can’t be. It’s too soon.”

“It’s not just me,” I said. “It’s all of us. Every Grey Warden in Ferelden and Orlais, and I expect everywhere in Thedas, has begun to hear the Calling. If I don’t find the cure now, we may all be lost.”

Fat tears pooled in his eyes, then slowly spilled over onto his cheeks. His expression was raw pain, his heartbreak an audible, tangible tragedy that threatened to break me, too. This is why I couldn’t tell him. Didn’t want to tell him. It was as if I was telling him I was already dead.

“Do not mourn her yet, King Alistair,” Flemeth cautioned. “I have cause to help her on her journey.”

“All we need to do is agree to give you the soul of the old god,” I confirmed.

“Yes.”

“We agree,” Alistair whispered, never taking his eyes off me. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not so soon.”

“Solona?” Flemeth prodded. I nodded. “Excellent. Then I will return to Denerim with him, and see it done. You will not go to Weishaupt, but to Laysh.”

“Isn’t that on the western coast of the Anderfels?” I asked, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from Alistair.

“Indeed,” she confirmed. “But you will not stop there. Sail west, along the southern shores of the Volca Sea. I will give you a map to show you the way. There you will find the answers you seek.”

“Thank you,” I told her, then threw my arms around Alistair, burying my head in the crook of his neck.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said quietly. I pulled back to look into his eyes and saw the fear that filled them. “I’ve never stood in your way, never tried to stop you from any of your quests. Every time you left, I knew there was a chance I’d never see you again, but I didn’t try to stop you because I believed you’d come back eventually. But this… I’m afraid you’ll never come back.”

I wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about, but the constant song of the darkspawn in the back of my mind said otherwise. I wasn’t afraid, but that was only because I couldn’t stop to let myself think about the dangers long enough to feel the fear. I could feel his trepidation and uncertainty almost like it was my own. I couldn’t leave him with it.

“Take this,” I said, pushing into his hand a rose I had conjured from nothing. He took it, and I touched the petals gently, letting the blue swirls of my magic weave over it as I worked a spell. “As long as I live, this rose will never wilt.”

“Promise me I’ll see you again,” he begged as he stroked my hair. It wasn’t a fair promise to make, but I’d make it anyway and hope I’d never have to break it.

“I promise. I’ll come back, I’ll bring the cure with me, and I swear we will never be parted again. We’ll be together for good this time.”

I kissed him deeply for what I hoped would not be the last time, then watched as Flemeth took to the skies in dragon form, the love of my life perched upon her back.

Returning to Perendale was slow going, my two guides having long since vanished. When I made it back to the tavern, I found Bethany and Sigrun in a frantic argument about how to begin searching for me, Barkspawn dancing excitedly between them. They fell silent as soon as the saw me.

“I hope you found good supplies, because we’re not going to Weishaupt,” I told them.

“We aren’t?” Bethany asked.

“Where are we going?” Sigrun asked.

“We’re going west, far beyond the known world. But first, we have to get to Laysh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my headcanon that Morrigan's dark ritual was actually just the most common type of magic, and only by coincidence and circumstance had no one ever used it with a Grey Warden in time for the death of an archdemon before. I mean, when you're facing down a Blight, what are the chances you're going to try really hard to get pregnant, especially with someone who's probably going to die trying to defeat the Blight? By that extension, a naturally conceived pregnancy by a Grey Warden would have worked just as well, no magic necessary, but considering the low fertility as a result of the taint, Morrigan and Flemeth were not going to leave that to chance. And if Morrigan hadn't said it was a magical ritual, there's no way Alistair would have voluntarily had sex with her.


	9. Acolytes of Questionable Character

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona prepares to leave behind the known world and finds one last companion in Laysh.

The arid, desolate land that comprised the vast majority of central Anderfels would have been impassable had we began our journey in the spring, but the cooling air of Kingsway allowed us to pass through the wastelands spared from the worst of the summer heat. When we passed out of Nordbotten, the last encampment of civilization along the Landerfluss river, the road disappeared entirely, along with all traces of life. I drew my finger between it and Laysh and watched as the glowing line left behind on the parchment was mirrored by faint streams of silvery magic that gleamed among the sand and dirt. Sigrun noticed nothing amiss, but Bethany watched my spellcasting with a frown that deepened with every step we took. 

We were half-way to Harvestmere and a quarter of the way through our rations before she finally put her thoughts to words. The sun had sunk, leaving us in darkness and completely exposed, so Sigrun and Barkspawn had begun a circuitous patrol around our tents while I coaxed a fire from nothing. Bethany watched me tease a spark from a magnesium-rich stone and waited for the thing to catch and hold before speaking.

“I’ve never seen anyone do magic as you can.” Her tone was curious, yet guarded. “I never knew many mages until joining the Grey Warden, so it’s not like I could call myself a scholar on the different schools, but…”

I didn’t look at her. Instead, I counted out rations for the evening meal and set them in a pot in the middle of the flames. The empty air she left was meant for me to answer her unspoken questions, but I was tired, and I didn’t know what answers I’d be able to give, anyway.

“I’ve met elven mages and learned from them. Some from Tevinter, as well, including a handful of blood mages,” she continued. “I’ve even known a Tal Vashoth mage, the scars from where they stitched his mouth closed still freshly healed. Magic isn’t all the same, and there are dozens of ways it can be used, but with you, it’s like… you just wish it, and it happens. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either,” I admitted. 

“Have you always been like this?”

I thought back to my childhood. I had always been a promising student in the Circle. I was often the first in my cohort to master new spells, and even my Harrowing had been an easy trial. But it was never out of the ordinary. Exceptional, yes. But not shocking. “No.”

“It started after the Joining, didn’t it?” I snapped my eyes to hers, ready to defend whatever accusation she was about to hurl, electricity dancing on my skin. Instead, I found her expression thoughtful. 

“Not quite a year after, I think,” I told her. “Or at least, that was the first time I had noticed it.”

The night Elissa had been conceived. Healing Alistair during the Battle of Denerim. Then, a dozen or so small manifestations I was always startled by. Over the years, I had learned to control it somewhat. Having heightened emotions helped, and the smaller the wish, the easier it was to manifest. Despite my increased control, I was no closer to actually understanding my strange powers.

“I think it might have something to do with the taint,” Bethany suggested. I answered her with a frown. “I know how that sounds, but it’s not without precedent. The darkspawn have spellcasters, don’t they? All the research I’ve read suggests they don’t derive their magic from the fade, though. Some have suggested it’s a form of blood magic we don’t quite understand, but that doesn’t make any sense to me. Darkspawn are beholden to the archdemons, but they can’t be possessed.”

“The Architect,” I whispered.

“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Sigrun chirped. I started, not having noticed her approach, and silently chastised myself for the oversight. 

“I don’t understand,” Bethany said, looking between us in confusion. 

“No time for that story now,” Sigrun responded. “We’ve got a dust storm coming in. It’s time to batten down the hatches.”

Our night was cut short as we braced for the waves of sand that would wash over us, stripping the skin from all that was left unprotected and half-burying us in our tents. In the morning, we spent far too long digging ourselves back out and lost half a day’s progress. In the days that followed, we made progress at a grueling pace, determined to make up the distance. When Harvestmere hit, the dust storms became more frequent, and our traveling continued in fits and starts, impeded by the brutal weather. It was almost Firstfall before we saw the shadow of the Wandering Hills on the northern horizon and knew that Laysh lay before us.

I didn’t forget Bethany’s comments, though we never returned to our conversation. The Architect had used an awesome and strange magic that I hadn’t understood at the time, but looking back, it could have been fueled by his connection to the taint. He had survived for millennia perfecting his ability to wield it; if my strange abilities came from the same source, it was rational that I would have barely scratched the surface of what I could do, given my comparatively short time exposed to it. The implications were disturbing. How often was it despair that fueled these desires and twisted them into proper magic? Why had no other Grey Warden Acolytes discovered such powers within themselves? Perhaps they had, and I simply remained ignorant of it. After all, secrets ran rampant in the order, and our shortened life-spans prevented the complete dissemination of scholarship from one generation to the next. 

I was still pondering the concepts when Laysh came into view just as Firstfall was changing into Haring. It had once been a sprawling port city, but ages had passed since the beginning of its decline, and the city proper was ringed by the ruins of long-abandoned structures either left to decay or scavenged for every brick and board that could be repurposed. In places, plant life had overtaken the dereliction, and the patches of green were a welcome relief from the life-less plains we had already crossed. The closer we got to the city center, the more often we saw plots of land that had been cleared for the cultivation of small gardens, although no farm of any substantial size could be seen.

“Halt, by the order of the Laysh guard,” called a deep and suspicious voice. We found our way blocked by a man in chainmail, a peeling coat of arms painted on his wooden shield in green. “State your business, outsiders.”

“Our business is on behalf of the Grey Wardens,” I answered as we approached. He harrumphed in reply. 

“We’ve no need of more of you coming in and making trouble,” he warned. “We’ve got Templars stationed at the Chantry, and we won’t hesitate to deploy them against aggressive mages, whether they wear the blue uniform or not.”

“Are there other Wardens in town?” I asked, my curiosity piqued by his caution. If they had heard the Calling like us, why had they not been summoned to Weishaupt? What were they doing here?

“Just one,” he answered. “Barely more than an apostate, if you ask me.”

“Where can we find this Warden?” I pressed. 

“He’s set up shop down by the docks. But I’m reporting your arrival to the head of the guard, and you should know we’ll be out in force, in case you start any funny business.”

I nodded to the guard, and we passed by him.

“I thought the Anders people liked us,” Sigrun said once the guard had passed out of earshot. The buildings we walked by now looked occupied, with old but well-kept homes and shops revealing the existence of other humans.

“They’re still devoutly Andrastrian,” Bethany commented. “They may like the Wardens, but they probably still hate mages.”

We found the docks quickly enough simply by following the growing scent of salt brine and fish. The existing buildings along the plankways were mostly run down, but clearly marked.  It was easy to discover the shop, or shack, rather, that this other Warden had claimed. It was set apart from the main lanes of traffic and given a wide berth by passersby, most of whom eyed us with chary caution. When we reached the door, I saw a sign had been tacked to it in a hasty scrawl.

Clinic closed. Gone to tavern.

“Clinic?” Bethany asked. “What’s a Grey Warden doing setting up a clinic in the far west?”

“Maybe he just wanted to help people in need,” Sigrun suggested. We both turned to look at her, but she just shrugged. “Not everything has to have a sinister motivation behind it. Sometimes people are just nice.”

I pursed my lips, but something in my gut told me not to drop this. “We might as well find this tavern. We need a room for the night, a decent meal, and a place to rest before we find a ship willing to set sail.”

The tavern, much like the rest of the village, had an air of ancientness and decay, although the floor was swept clean, and the tables, though constructed of mismatched and recycled boards, were sturdy. The patrons of the tavern were of a similar build, sturdy people with round and delicate faces, dark features, and quiet voices. They had the good manners not to stare openly at the three strange women who intruded on their respite, but I could feel them watching us out of the corners of their eyes. The barkeep was not as well mannered.

“I haven’t got room for travelers, and no patience for dogs,” she said, scowling at us through thick gray eyebrows. “This isn’t an inn, for you to come and go as you please. You can have a meal and as much ale as you can pay for, but that’s it. If you need a bed to sleep in, you’ll have to find someone willing to share theirs, or else go ask your compatriot for shelter.”

“Where would we find this associate of ours?” I pressed, passing her coins for the meal, hopeful that the prospect of money would soften her regard. 

“He’s where he always is this time of night,” she barked, her nimble fingers tucking the payment into her apron without even looking at it. “He’s in the back corner, trying to drown himself.” 

I turned to follow her gesture, my eyes looking for the familiar flash of blue among a collection of browns and blacks and greens. Bethany saw him before I did.

“The Maker sure does have a sense of humor,” she muttered before heading in the direction we had been looking. I still couldn’t see anyone that looked like a Warden, but Sigrun and I trotted after her anyway. She made her way to the farthest-away table where a solitary blond man sat hunched over a mug of ale.  It took me a moment to place his face, but recognition dawned just as Sigrun let out a chuckle of surprise. 

“You know, I should have expected to find Anders in the Anderfels,” the dwarf chuckled, sliding into the seat across from him. Bethany crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, her eyes narrowed at the mage in front of us. The breath caught in my lungs as the man’s face lifted and his eyes found mine, an eerie blue light shining from them. 

“Warden-Commander,” Anders greeted me, his voice heavy and low, like it wasn’t entirely his own. Heat flushed over my skin, hints of flames begging my fingers for release as my emotions rose. I clenched my fists, trying to push the magic down, trying to regain some control over myself. One clenched fist lifted and collided with his nose with enough force to send him sprawling against the table. 

“You stupid, selfish, abomination,” I bellowed. The rest of the tavern grew deathly quiet as everyone turned to stare at my outburst. Sigrun jumped up from her chair and stepped between us, forcing me back. Bethany went to Anders, helping him sit upright and stop the flow of blood from his nostrils. 

My hands shook with anger. I took a gulp of air, shocked by my outburst like everyone else. I hadn’t realized I was so angry at Anders. I had barely spared him a thought in the past year, and before that, I had been too focused on planning to give much consideration to my own feelings about his actions in Kirkwall. The past couldn’t be changed, after all, and I had needed to ensure there were safe places for the mages that had been endangered by the explosion. 

Now, however, I was face to face with him. Now the rage boiled up in me. My brother’s life had been put in danger because of him. Whatever reasons he’d had for his actions, they didn’t excuse the fear I’d felt when Galen had gone silent, or when Elissa’s magical aptitude had become apparent. The world was a difficult place for mages, but Anders had ripped off the suture of civility, and now anti-magic sentiments were an open wound that had infected all of Thedas. 

“Perhaps we should continue our conversation outside?” Bethany suggested.

“No, you should stay,” Anders contradicted, his words slightly lengthened by the alcohol in his blood. “I haven’t finished my ale, and if Solona is going to hit me again, I’d rather take the blows while sitting down. Less effort.”

“C’mon, boss,” Sigrun pleaded. “It’s Anders. You can always kill him later, after we’ve eaten and had a drink.”

I allowed Sigrun to usher me into the chair she had vacated, and stared coolly at the man in front of me.  He looked far worse than he had when I’d seen him a few years back in Kirkwall. His eyes, still with a faint supernatural glow, were bloodshot and rimmed in red. His cheeks were gaunt, his skin red and blotchy, and a week-old beard had sprouted along his jawline. He didn’t shy from my gaze, but he didn’t look guilty or sheepish or ashamed, either. He looked tired.

“I take it you’re upset about my actions in Kirkwall,” he guessed. When I clenched my jaw, he nodded in understanding. “Well, you’re not alone. Why do you think I’m here at the ass-end of Thedas, instead of somewhere I could actually make a difference?”

“You’ve made enough of a difference,” I snapped.

“I’m not the one who called for the Circle to be annulled, you know,” he defended.

“He helped, too,” Bethany chimed in. “He fought with my sister and the rest of us to defend the mages.”

“Yes, well, if they’d been killed, I wouldn’t have punched you,” I said. “I’d have killed you.”

“It’s not like I can take it back now,” he sighed, then reached for his ale. In a fit of petty spite, I snatched the mug from his fingers and put it to my lips, letting the icy liquid slide down my throat, emptying it in one large gulp.

“I’ll get us more drinks,” Sigrun volunteered. She looked pointedly at Bethany, and the two of them left us to whatever privacy could be attained in a public tavern.

“If your brother hadn’t been caught in the crossfire, would you still be mad at me?” he asked once they had left. I clenched the empty mug hard enough my knuckles turned white and fought the urge to chuck it at his head.

“The world has become infinitely more dangerous for all mages,” I growled.

“Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better,” he said, shrugging. “The Chantry was never going to commit to meaningful change. The system was designed to keep us oppressed. It could never be fixed because it was never broken. It had to be torn down so that something new and good could be built in its place.”

“What if you’re wrong?” I asked. “What if instead of something new and good, it’s replaced with something new and awful? I’ve heard the Qunari treat their mages like animals. What if the Chantry decides to follow their lead?”

“Then we keep fighting.” His eyes flashed as he spoke, his voice deepening, becoming more ethereal and intimidating. 

“Justice?”

Anders closed his eyes and shook his head, breathing in deeply through his nose. When he met my gaze again, I could almost see the chestnut hue his eyes had once been. “I’m afraid it’s just Vengeance now.”

“And what does Vengeance want?”

“To take over,” he admitted, slumping back against the chair. “I’ve been trying to hold him off, but it feels harder now, with nothing to work for. No cause to appease him. Every slight, no matter how small, he surges through me like a tidal wave, begging for retribution. I don’t know how much longer I can keep him at bay.”

“How does he feel about the Calling?” I asked. Anders arched an eyebrow and cocked his head, confusion on his face. “Don’t you feel it? I think every Grey Warden in Thedas feels it. Like a constant terrible song in the back of my mind. If I rest, for even a minute, it starts to become unbearable.” 

“I didn’t realize that’s what it was,” he admitted. “I’ve heard it. Felt it. But I’ve got too many voices in my head as it is. I thought it was just, I don’t know, my mind looking for a way to end everything.”

“Not your mind. Your blood,” I corrected. His mouth twitched up in the ghost of a smile, then pulled down into a frown as he sat up straight and leaned toward me.

“What do you mean every Grey Warden feels it?” he asked.

“I mean we’re all experiencing the Calling, even those brand new to the order.”

“That’s impossible,” he exclaimed. I nodded.

“And yet…”

“Then, why are you here?” he pressed. “And with Bethany and Sigrun? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, meeting with the other Warden-Commanders to get to the bottom of whatever’s happening?”

“That was the original plan,” I agreed. “But the Calling is only a problem because of the taint. If there was no taint, there’d be no Calling, and we could all go on with our lives in peace and happiness.”

My mind flashed with the image of Alistair spread out in front of a fireplace, Elissa tucked against his chest as he read to her from a book of fairy tales. My heart clenched so violently, I almost cried out in pain before I could push the memory down. 

“You’re looking for the cure,” Anders surmised. I nodded. “Why here?”

“I have reliable information that the answer lies to the west.”

“But there’s nothing west of here. Nothing except the Volca Sea.”

“Don’t you know the history of Laysh?” I questioned. He made a face and waved his hands dismissively. 

“Yes, I know about the Voshai, but anyone who’s ever sailed to find them has never returned,” he protested. Then he paused. “Actually, come to think of it, a few weeks back I had a patient who mentioned them. There’s a rumor going around that they’ve been showing up again, but I’ve yet to see any.”

“Rumor or no, I’ve got a map that leads me west, and several very good reasons to complete this quest,” I said. “It’s the only lead I have, and I refuse to come back empty-handed.”

“Let me come.”

“No.” I didn’t even think before turning him down. Besides my anger, Anders was a loose cannon that I could no longer trust. 

“Please, Solona.” His eyes were eager, but when he reached for my hand, I snatched it away.

“If it was just you, I’d consider it. But Vengeance is not welcome.”

“I know you disapprove of my past actions-”

“Anders, you blew up the Chantry! People died because of your zealotry.”

“Then let me make up for it,” he begged, his fist slamming on the table. “Atonement, or what have you. I can save lives just as well as put them in jeopardy. You need a healer. Neither you nor Bethany are exactly skilled in restoration magic, and Sigrun can’t do magic at all.”

“Let him come,” the tattooed dwarf agreed, placing one of the two mugs in her hands down in front of me. “It’ll be like old times. Oh, we can even get a cat for him!”

“No. He’s a liability.”

“We’re all liabilities,” Bethany reminded me, coming up behind Sigrun and passing one of her mugs to Anders. He took it gratefully but didn’t drink, instead looking hopefully at me. “Not a single one of us is without fault. Not even you, cousin.”

“We can make him cook,” Sigrun suggested. “I remember him being good at that.”

I glared from her to Bethany. Sigrun grinned back, while Bethany gave me a rather stern gaze. 

“I think you’re outnumbered, Solona Amell,” Anders said gently, tipping his mug toward me in a toast. I pursed my lips, but he was right. Begrudgingly, I touched my own mug to his, and the four of us drank to the adventure that waited for us. I tried to ignore the knot of anxiety that rolled around in my gut, telling me it was all going to go horribly wrong.

It took two weeks for us to convince a fisherman to sell us his boat, and another week or so to figure out how to sail it and load it up with supplies. It wasn’t a vessel for open water, so we’d have to stick to the coast, which would make our journey even longer. Bethany practiced her weather magic in the interim, just in case. On the eve of First Day, we finally loaded the last of what we needed, and we set sail as the rest of Thedas ushered in the year 9:41 Dragon.

“How long do you think before we’ll see it again?” Bethany asked, coming up beside me as the Laysh docks grew smaller in the distance. Barkspawn pressed between us, whining softly as he gazed wistfully at land.

“Thedas? I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I hope it’s less than a year. I’ve been away from home too long already.”

Elissa would be nine this year. I wondered what she was doing at that moment. I wondered how her magic lessons with Galen were progressing, and if Alistair had begun to teach her swordplay, as he said he would. I wondered if Viveka noticed my absence, and if Darina had made it safely to Weishaupt. I looked at Bethany and wondered if Hawke missed her as much as I missed my loved ones. I reached over and took her hand, and she squeezed it in return.

The crack of a sonic boom echoed through the empty air, but it was far away. We all turned to look as a flash of green light filled the eastern horizon. It was too bright to look at, and I turned my face from the glare. When I was able to turn back, a troubling green swirl had appeared to the southeast, far enough away that I couldn’t make out exactly what it was. Looking at it filled me with a deep sense of wrongness.

“What is that?” Bethany asked.

“I don’t know.” A stab of fear and regret shot through me. For a moment, I wondered if I should turn the ship around and rush to whatever cataclysm had occurred. But the miles between us and eastern Thedas stretched like a chasm. Even if we hurried, it would take months to cross back through the Anderfels, and we didn’t have months. Already, the incessant, infernal song of the darkspawn had renewed its cacophonic tempo, increasing in intensity. If we abandoned our quest now, we would all be lost. “We’ll have to hope they can manage without us for a while. There’s no turning back now.”


End file.
